


The French Connection

by JRC10



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22751398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRC10/pseuds/JRC10
Summary: This story takes place after "Written in My Own Heart's Blood."Jamie and Claire have everything they could've ever dreamed of having and are determined to savor every moment of their passionate life together.  Brianna and Fergus have both brought their families back to the Ridge, and the Fraser clan is tucked away in the back country, miles of wilderness serving as a buffer to the ongoing war.  As Jamie works to grow closer to his son, William, another stranger arrives at the Ridge with mysterious connections to Claire and Jamie's past.  The Frasers sort out the mystery of their new arrival as an ongoing threat looms over their foster son's family.There are some spoilers if you haven't read the books, but you won't need to have read the books to keep up with this story.  I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 139
Kudos: 201





	1. A Bed of Gold

Jamie pushed me up from behind as I clambered over a small boulder. He’d been tugging, pulling, and lifting me through the dense wilderness all morning. Initially, I thought he needn’t be quite so hands on in his shepherding, but his firm grip on my arse informed me his aggressive guidance was as much for his benefit as my own. If I had any question as to why he wanted me to come with him to the Spaniard’s cave, it had long since been answered.

After a few hours of Jamie’s gratuitously groping assistance, I began recognizing some of the terrain. We were close.

“Just through here, Sassenach.” He took my hand in his and led me through the last of the brush and trees to the entrance of the cave.

Once we were safely inside, he used one of Brianna’s matches to light a few torches. As soon as the light reached the back wall, our eyes were pulled to the glittering yellow ingots that seemed to emanate a light of their own. The cynic in me frequently disdained the materialistic idea of an almost useless soft metal being worth so much just for the sake of decoration – aside from acupuncture needles, the metal was too soft for any functional use – however, the romantic in me couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the glittering gold.

Jamie placed the torches on either side of the cave. He crossed himself and murmured something in Gaelic as he passed by the Spanish guardian of our family’s haphazardly acquired wealth.

His face was dark and contemplative as he stared at the gold. I knew he’d talk to me when he was ready, so I closed the space between us and held onto his arm while he finished working out whatever problem was running around in his mind.

Finally, he said, “I had a dream last night, Sassenach.”

“Oh?” Strange. I usually noticed when he had a significant dream. “Is that why we’re here?”

“Aye.” He turned to me, pulling me close and looking into my eyes. His dark blue irises were nearly black in the dim light. “Aye, that’s one of the reasons I brought ye here.”

His large hand lifted up to my face gently moving wild strands of hair behind my ears. He didn’t appear at all distressed, so I did my best to refrain from worrying about him and his impromptu decision to bring me to this most secret place.

“What did you dream?”

“I dreamt of...St. Peter.”

That surprised me. “At the pearly gates, were you?”

The corners of his mouth lifted in amusement. “I was.”

“I hope I was there with you.” I didn’t relish the idea of being alive without him ever again.

He sighed and caressed my cheek with the tips of his calloused fingers. “Ye were there wi’ me, aye.”

“Good.”

He kissed me softly before he continued. “St. Peter was reciting a list of all our deeds—good deeds and misdeeds, of course—but I wasna listening to him as I should’ve been.”

“I’m sure that’s fine. It’s not as though you’ve forgotten too many of them.”

His chest gave a soft, rumbling laugh. “Aye. No, Sassenach, I wasna listening to the misdeeds so much because I was too busy hearing the things he didna say.”

“Such as?”

“When he spoke of me breaking my promise to you and dueling wi’ Randall...all I could think of was losing Faith.” My heart tightened in my chest at the sound of our little girl’s name. “When he spoke of Willie’s mother, all I could think of was riding away from my son when he was only a lad. When he talked of me killing Dougal, I thought of losing you and Brianna. Every sin connected to loss. What I did to Roger...then losing Ian. Saving Stephen Bonnet…”

“Don’t,” I interrupted. I hated that he held himself responsible for everything Bonnet had done after the night we aided his escape.

He smiled and kissed my nose, letting me know he was not any more distressed about his sins today than he was the day before. Still...he’d been dreaming about all the things he’d lost. I wondered why he wasn’t more upset.

“Why are we here, Jamie?”

“A man canna think on all his losses without thinking of all the things he once had...of all the things he still has. Things canna be lost if they were never found.”

“You're being cryptic.”

“Aye. I was thinking about all those I lost and reasoning with myself that the losses were only as significant as the love I had for the person before they were gone. Which means, the Time I did have was truly the greatest gift of my life.”

“Jamie, you don’t think God was punishing you for your sins by taking away all the people that mattered most to you?”

“Perhaps. Mebbe my time here on Earth without them will be considered when they calculate my time Purgatory.” His eyes were serious even as he laughed.

“A down payment on absolution?”

“Aye.”

“That doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

He held my face in his hands. The inscrutable mask that typically hid his emotions was gone. His feelings were etched into every line of his face. He looked at me with all the joy and love in his heart, soul completely bared, much like how he looked at me when we were young. Only now, there was a depth to his love that wasn’t there before, a depth created by the chasm of our twenty year separation. Those twenty years had given us both an acute knowledge of what life would be like without the other. That knowledge made the love we shared and the Time we still had all the more meaningful.

I finally understood why he wasn’t upset about his dream. He wasn’t ruminating on all he lost. He was thinking of what he had. What he still had...and of what he wanted to do with the time he had left.

He kissed me, his mouth firm against mine. His lips moved slow, still eager and needful in their restraint.

“Oh, Jamie.”

“We have so much, Claire…” he kissed me again. “We have each other...the bairns…” and kissed me again. “And time…even if only for a moment.”

The pins fell out of my hair and clattered softly around my feet as his hand tangled in my mass of curls. His other hand grabbed my bottom, pulling me tight against him, reminding me what good foresight I had to not think of amputating it all those years ago.

He took his time removing all the layers of my clothes. He obviously meant to thoroughly enjoy me, being that we were out here far from the voices of crying children, needy tenants, and injured persons demanding our attention.

Again, I wondered why he didn’t just wake me after his dream while we were in the sanctuary of our bedroom with a feathered mattress and a warm fire. Of course, the Spaniard wasn’t what I’d call demanding as far as company goes, but corpses weren’t exactly mood enhancers either.

Both of us properly naked, he lifted me with ease and carried me to the bed of gold only a few feet away. He laid me down gently on the most expensive surface on which I’d ever reclined. The shock of cold metal on my warm skin stole my breath almost as thoroughly as Jamie’s kisses. Gold being such a good thermal conductor, I knew the cold wouldn’t last long with the heat Jamie and I were sure to put off in a moment.

“Ye see, my Sassenach. The pain of my losses was difficult to endure no’ just because you and the bairns were taken from me. It hurt as it did because I lost a future...all my hopes...all my dreams...all my expectations for what life could have been. It was the loss of what could have been that was most trying.” He caressed my cheek, “But I have ye now, Claire, and I intend to make the most of it.”

After one more kiss, Jamie rose up and looked down on me. He made one of his quiet Scottish grunts, and his brow narrowed with a hint of dissatisfaction. If not for the very firm and obvious sign of his pleasure protruding from his groin, I might have been affronted by his disappointment. But clearly, his dissatisfaction was not with me.

He moved to grab one of the torches and brought it closer. He held the torch above me and just to the side, careful not to let any falling embers land on my skin. His eyes raked up and down my body with the most gratifying appreciation.

“Aye, now, there it is,” he said.

“There what is?”

“The light is helping me to see the gold in yer eyes, Sassenach. When I woke from my dream this morning, and I was thinking about everything I still had...you, the bairns, the Ridge...the gold” he smiled, “An image came to my heid of lying ye down on a bed of bullion, yer eyes brighter than the precious metal beneath ye. Yer hair surrounding yer face like a halo.” The more aroused he became, the deeper his words fell back to their Highland origins.

“You brought me here to make love to me on a bed of gold?”

He grinned like a gluttonous Jemmy eyeing an unguarded plate of molasses cookies. “I’m no’ a man who would deny myself the pleasure of the gifts given to me in this life. It wouldna be worth the pain should I ever lose the gold to not have enjoyed it as thoroughly as I could. And I will enjoy ye, too, my Sassenach, in every way I can.”

He knelt down beside me, looking me up and down with a most contented smile. “I’d be a fool not to make love to my wife everywhere I could on God’s beautiful Earth.”

He put the torch down and got back to the business of recreating his early morning vision of _amor auream_.

The gold was warm on my back, and hardly what I’d consider a ‘soft’ metal as Jamie’s weight pressed the bars into my back. Any discomfort on my backside was, however, easily eclipsed by the pleasure filling me deep inside.

Our moans and grunts echoed through the cave, and a chorus of a dozen Jamies surrounded me. Hearing the echoes of my own pleasure and exertion was strange and mildly disconcerting. I had no desire to share my dozen Jamies, even with whispers of my disembodied self.

He silenced my echoes with his mouth over mine. My legs wrapped tight around him, pulling him close, as if they had a chance of forcing Jamie’s body to do anything other than what Jamie’s muscular form intended. Thankfully, he intended to do as my body craved and pressed more firmly against me. His hands reached down and cupped my arse as he drove into me over and over.

“Come now, Sassenach. I want to see those golden eyes lose themselves in a sea of their own color.”

“Oh, Jamie!” He watched intently as I climaxed, banking away the memory for another time should he ever be parted from me again.

As I clung to him while coming back to my senses, his rhythm sped into a consistent pounding. I loved this moment in our love-making, when Jamie knew I had already found my release, and he allowed himself to focus on his own pleasure, when he became strong and rough with my body, knowing I loved it just as much as he did. I relished when he kissed me and sucked on my skin, not to love me, but to consume me. To take me into himself just as surely as I was taking him into me.

It was in those moments when I couldn’t help but find my release once again as he was finding his own.

* * *

My back gave a sigh of relief as Jamie rolled us over, switching our positions. His chest was far more comfortable to lie on than the massive fortune beneath us.

“Was it like you imagined?” I asked.

His chest rumbled in amusement. “The reality of ye always surpasses the fantasy.”

I kissed his chest and congratulated myself on making the right decision to come back to him all those years ago.

“Of course, King Midas, but did you enjoy your _aurum coitus_?”

“I enjoy _aurum coitus_ every time I lie wi’ ye and look in your eyes, Sassenach.”

We lay together, breathing softly, lost in our thoughts. He gave a sudden disapproving Scottish noise and said, “I shouldna care to have the golden touch of Midas.” He grabbed a handful of my plump bottom to demonstrate King Midas’s limitations of enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. His heart was slowing to its usual steady pace as his breath returned to normal.

“You’re certainly not King Midas, though I doubt even he’d have the power to firm up my arse.”

“He’d lose a hand if he got anywhere near your arse,” he said sharply.

I laughed at his jealousy over his mythical rival. “Perhaps you’re not Midas, but you’re certainly an alchemist. We came to this country with nothing to our name, and you’ve turned this land into a bed of gold. All you need to do now is find the fountain of youth and achieve immortality.”

“ _Hmphmf_. I’d much rather spend forever with you in paradise than on the Ridge, Sassenach. If I have to build another house for the bairns, my back shall seize up and retire it’s service for life.”

“Lucky for you, you married a doctor. We’d get that back building high rises and condos in no time.”

“A condo? Is that the wee rubber thing you told me about? What’s that to do with building houses?”

I tried not to laugh too hard as I explained the difference between words related to the topics of construction versus contraception.

The fire from one of the torches had already fizzled out. I propped myself up to look him in the eyes while we still had the fading light of the others. “Tell me, is glittery intercourse the only reason for our trek through the Ridge to visit our Spanish friend? Or did you have another hidden motivation?”

“Oh, aye. I figure it’s a good time to bring another bar back to the house. The roof is nearly finished on Brianna and Roger’s new house, and we best get some windows on or the bairns will freeze come winter. And there are a few other odds and ends I’d like to get from Paris before the ships stop crossing the sea, or I’ll be waiting ’til next spring.”

“Another astrolabe?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “And rifles if we can get them. It’s time Germain was given his own rifle. Jemmy, as well.”

“And don’t forget Joan. Brianna says she’s a fine shot.”

“Aye, but the poor lassie can hardly lift the weapon on her own. She has to rest it on a log to make a shot. Shooting stationary targets is one thing, but I dinna think whoever is after Fergus will wait for her to set up her weapon as such should they attack.”

I sat up and tried to hide my irritation that his 18th century misogyny was showing. We needed all the security we could get...especially Fergus and his family. To think of them suffering another loss, especially after Henri-Christian…

“I know you’re worrit, Sassenach. I will protect my family, trust in that.”

“Of course, I do, Jamie. I just can’t help but worry myself a little, you know that.”

“Aye, I know.” He smiled softly. “If I would have kent how much that thieving little mongrel would mean to us when I hired the lad all those years ago…”

“And to think what a wonderful man he’s grown to become. You did well raising him, Jamie.”

“I didna think of it as raising the lad at the time. But you ken he’s been ours for longer than any of the other bairns. Longer than Brianna. Longer than Wille. Than Ian.”

“Even before Faith.”

“Aye. The lad was there for you when I couldna be as you lost her.”

“And now, we're here for him.”

Jamie sat up alongside me and put his arm around my shoulders. “It’ll be nice to have Willie spend some time wi’ him. I ken the lad’s coming to the Ridge to get to know the sister of his blood and her bairns...but mebbe…”

“Maybe he’ll connect with his father’s foster son, too.”

Jamie smiled softly, nervously, and kissed my forehead. “Aye. Perhaps he will.”

He helped me get dressed again before he donned his shirt and kilt. His thoughts were very obviously somewhere else as he put back on his boots. Before he stuffed out the fire on the last torch, I stepped close to him and held him as tight as my arms would allow.

“It’s like you said, Jamie, we know better than anyone that time is a gift. Time with each other. Time with Brianna, the grandchildren, and Fergus. And time with William...whatever that time together looks like. It’s a gift.”

He dipped his forehead down to meet mine. He closed his eyes as he sighed a deep breath, tension draining from his body.

“Aye, Sassenach. We ken that better than most.”


	2. The Stranger

Wealth is a magnet for trouble. Carrying a large, heavy bar of gold into our new home felt like a beacon for thieves and raiders. I remembered the last time someone had a notion there was a stash of precious gems in our house...that house is no longer standing.

I warily watched as Jamie hid the golden brick in a false wall deep within a cupboard in our bedroom. After he secured the treasure, he stood up to his full height and stretched himself out. An impressive sight, to be sure.

He turned to look me over with his all too appraising eye. Noticing the concern I couldn’t hide on my face, he gave a reassuring smile. “Dinna fash, Sassenach. All will be well.”

I didn’t want him to leave while I was feeling so disconcerted. I was, however, dutifully accustomed to him being pulled away to meet everyone else’s needs on the Ridge...including those of our children.

Reading my glass face yet again, he said, “Ye’ll hardly notice me gone once ye’re elbows deep in pestilence, _mo nighean donn_. I’ll have to pull ye away from a broken bone or a rotten limb to get ye to eat supper wi’ me by nightfall.”

He kissed me thoroughly before making a reluctant exit and headed down the hill toward the site of Brianna’s new house.

As it turned out, he was right. I doctored three broken bones that afternoon, all temporarily diverting my attention from the uneasy feeling the gold brick left in the pit of my stomach. My attention was additionally diverted because I was attending the surgery alone for the first time in months. Rachel was off with Ian scouting a location for the cabin they were intending to build for their own growing family.

A mixture of relief and regret filled me thinking of how empty our big house would be in the next few months. The peace and privacy would be welcome, of course, but I’d grown accustomed to having so many I loved under one roof. Brianna and Roger would move into their new house. Ian and Rachel would move to theirs, Jenny along with them. By winter, the only other resident in our home would be Fanny.

But as long as there were broken bones in the Carolina wilderness, the big house would never be empty. The first broken bone I dealt with that day belonged to Aiden MacCallum. It was only a fractured toe. Not much to be done aside from setting and wrapping the little digit, and giving instructions for rest that would be promptly ignored as soon as he was out of sight.

The second broken bone was a simple fracture of the ulna sustained by a traveler on his way to the Beardsley’s trading post. He left me a fine blanket of the softest rabbit fur I had ever felt as payment for services rendered.

Being that the fur was white, I wasn’t letting it anywhere near the reach of our grandchildren’s grubby paws. I brought it promptly upstairs and spread it out over our bed. The sight inevitably inspired sensual daydreams of lying naked on the fur with Jamie’s hard body above mine. I peered out the window overlooking the vast vista of our North Carolina land in search of my midday muse.

Down the hill, near Brianna’s new house, my eyes landed on not one patch of familiar red hair, but three. Jamie, Jemmy, and Brianna seemed to be digging some sort of trench. It didn’t appear to be a privy hole. Perhaps Brianna was attempting to find a way to pump water directly from the creek again. I sighed longingly as old memories of indoor plumbing fluttered through my mind.

I wasn’t surprised to see Mandy absent from the digging party. She was about as fond of dirt as her father. A shame, really. I was hoping she’d show some interest in gardening with me. When I became too old and decrepit to tend the garden, someone was going to have to ensure the family had enough fruits and vegetables to ward off scurvy.

Movement down the trail attracted my attention away from the three mops of red hair bobbing up and down in the earth. A horse and rider were making their way toward the house. The rider was too distant to recognize, but I could see the horse dragging a large load behind them. Jamie wouldn’t be able to see our visitor from his vantage point several feet below the surface of the earth.

As the rider closed the distance, she dismounted from her horse and pulled it by the reins, urging the exhausted beast to move faster. The rider was clearly a woman, her long, dark hair undone with exertion, and her skirts billowing in the breeze. I made to go down and prep the surgery, just in case her urgency required physicking.

I halted momentarily when my eyes finally comprehended the burden the horse was pulling behind them. It was a body. A large, male figure clothed in bloody rags was being dragged on a makeshift gurney.

“Help!” the woman yelled. “Please help us!”

I ran down the stairs and threw open the front doors. Several pairs of footsteps followed behind me.

“What is it?” asked Jenny with Fanny on her heels.

“A man is injured,” I said, running to my newest patient, bypassing his female companion. “What happened to him?”

“I think he was attacked,” said the woman. Her voice was beautifully melodic for the level of distress it carried. “I came upon him on the trail. He was alone and bloody and beaten. He’s been in and out of coherency. He said I must bring him here to be tended by Mrs. Fraser, so I fashioned this gurney as best I could, and we’ve been riding for days.”

I bent over the man to check his pulse. A racing thrum beat against the pads of my fingers, and scorching heat emanated from his skin. “He’s fevered.”

I needed to get him to the surgery, but looking between myself, Jenny, Fanny, and my patient’s weary travel companion, I didn’t think we had much chance carrying such a big man without causing additional damage.

“Fanny, run down and get Jamie and Brianna. They’re at the MacKenzie cabin.”

“Yeth, ma’am.” Poor Fanny’s lisp still rose up when she was nervous.

“Jenny, I need my scissors to cut off his clothes.”

“Aye.” Jenny’s footsteps disappeared into the house.

His clothes were soaking wet and there was blood everywhere. “Where is he bleeding?” Unable to wait for Jenny and the scissors, I started ripping the fabric of his shirt to inspect the most vulnerable places of his torso.

“He’s no longer bleeding,” said the woman kneeling next to me. “He was stabbed in the abdomen and the side of his ribs, but I was able to stop the bleeding.” She pointed out the wounds. “Most of the blood came from a broken leg, but it was a clean break, and I was able to set it without much difficulty. It’s the fever that worries me. I’ve been trying to keep his temperature down with cold water from the creek.”

Shocked by the competent medical intervention the woman just detailed, my attention was pulled from the patient up to the woman beside me. She’d tied her hair back since I started my examination of the patient’s injuries, and when my eyes trained on her face, all I could see was a pair of shockingly vibrant green irises staring back at me. I nearly jumped back as memories of Geillis Duncan flooded through my mind.

I blinked and shook my head, then stared again. No...this woman’s eyes were a darker shade of green, though no less vivid than Geillis’s eyes. This woman held no further resemblance to my erstwhile friend. The green-eyed stranger was younger than I initially thought her to be. Her skin was fair and unmarked, aside from smears of dirt and blood, and she had a fine, delicate set of bones that looked nothing like the time travelling witch I once knew.

Still...those green eyes gave me a shiver down my spine. And they were looking at me with the same quizzical gaze that I was giving her...

I was so distracted that I hardly noticed when Jenny returned with the scissors. She hadn’t waited for my instructions and was already cutting the clothes off the man. I forced my focus back to the body lying unconscious before me. His bruised and swollen face made him unrecognizable, possibly to even his closest family. His hair was filthy, but seemed to be sort of chestnut brown color underneath the grime. He was a large man, almost the size of Jamie, except maybe a bit thinner, slightly narrower.

Closer inspection of the wounds had me looking back up at the green-eyed woman in question yet again. The stab wounds looked at least a week older than the woman intimated. Was she not being forthright about the nature of these injuries?

The man’s broken leg was wrapped in some torn rags, and splinted with a couple of firm tree branches. I unwrapped the makeshift dressing, discarding the filthy rags soaked with creek water and old blood. The man moaned in discomfort as I removed the last of the rags from his heavy leg.

Good. He was still alive and feeling pain. Always a good sign.

Just as the woman had said, there was evidence of a compound fracture where the bone penetrated the skin. The leg had been set as well any medical professional in the twentieth could’ve done on the trailside of the Carolina wilderness. However, it was highly inflamed and oozing puss from a nasty infection.

“Sassenach!” Jamie called, running with long strides to my side.

“I need your help getting him to surgery.”

Jamie stopped in his tracks and looked down at the prone figure on the ground. A single word escaped his lips in breath of shock and fear, “Willie.”

“Oh, dear God.” It _was_ William...Jamie’s son. I hadn’t recognized him with all the injuries.

Jamie dropped to his knees behind his son’s head. He hooked his arms under Willie’s and lifted him up.

“Careful the stab wound on his side,” I cautioned.

“Stab wound?” Jamie said sharply. Darkness covered his narrowed gaze at the realization his son was attacked. He shook his head and looked to Brianna who’d come running up with him. “Grab your brother’s leg, _a nighean_. Jemmy, tend to the lady’s horse.”

With Brianna and Jamie lifting most of William’s substantial weight, Jenny and I carried, carefully, the injured limb with only slightly less finesse. Finally settled into my sterile work space, I set to cleaning and suturing the wounds, having Jamie hold Willie’s leg still as I tended to it. Jenny was wiping down the mud and muck from the rest of his body, and I had Brianna dribble honey water into Willie’s mouth.

As focused as I was on Willie’s leg, I didn’t notice until I was ready to wrap the break with a temporary cast, that the green-eyed woman had already sutured one of the knife wounds and was working on the other.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I said.

She looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “There’s no sense in me sitting idle. I’m more than capable with a needle and thread.”

And so she was. I inspected the sutures, and they were executed quite as well I as could’ve done.

“They needed to be sterilized! You could cause additional infection.”

“She did sterilize them, Mama,” said Brianna with her eyebrows raised. “I watched her. She even sterilized the needle and thread.”

I looked back to the woman and asked with a tone sharper than I intended, “Who are you? Where did you learn to do that?”

“My grandfather was a healer in Paris. He taught me a few things.”

“I’ve worked in hospitals in Paris before,” I said, completely unable to hide the skepticism in my voice. “The medical community there rarely, if ever, see fit to clean their instruments, much less sterilize them.”

“I didn’t learn _that_ part in Paris. I just watched you and copied what you did.” Her accent was a strange combination of posh English and French, with an almost Audrey Hepburn-like lilt to it.

_Who on earth was this stranger?_

I’d have time to work that out later. I shook my head and turned my attention back to William, having Brianna help me with the wrapping.

I couldn’t help but to observe the goings on in my periphery. Jamie stepped toward the young woman and stared down at her with a narrowed brow. Surprisingly, the woman didn’t cower away in the slightest. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin staring at Himself as though he wasn’t a towering, menacing figure dwarfing her slender frame.

“What’s your name, lass?” he demanded.

She hesitated a moment before she said, “Sophia. Sophia Donadieu.”

“What happened to my son, Miss Donadieu?”

“Your son?” She seemed quite surprised to hear this revelation. She looked back and forth between Jamie and William.

Jamie waited with a stone expression for her response.

“I honestly don’t know. I was riding up the trail a few days ago, and I came upon a groaning body on the side of the road. I mended him as best I could. He insisted I bring him to Fraser’s Ridge to be doctored by the mistress of the house.”

“He didna speak of who did this to him?”

“No. He didn’t say much at all. He was hardly conscious during our journey, and no wonder, with that bump on his head.”

At her words, I moved to Willie’s head and inspected the “bump” she spoke of. “Doesn’t look like a fracture. There doesn’t appear to be any serious damage. A concussion with certainty.”

“Where was my son’s mount? His weapons?”

“He was alone. He had nothing with him.”

“A bandit?” asked Brianna.

“If so, likely more than one,” said Jenny. “Few men could best a soldier like William without assistance.”

“Bandits attacking _my_ son on _my_ Ridge?” said Jamie. His tone made it clear he doubted that likelihood. And William was unmistakably Himself’s son. Anyone with decent vision could see that...at least, they could see it when William's face wasn’t in it’s current battered condition. Clearly, Jamie thought this attack personal.

When it came to our family, it was always personal.

“Brianna,” said Jamie, his eyes never leaving Miss Donadieu, “go warn Roger and Fergus. Send Bobby Higgins about the Ridge to spread word of a possible bandits.”

Brianna looked once more at her brother before nodding to Jamie and leaving the surgery.

“I’ll start a tea for the lad so it’ll be ready when he wakes,” said Jenny. Her eyes were on her brother and Miss Donadieu as she said, “Come, Fanny. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

I’d hardly noticed Fanny Pocock in the corner of the room. Tears were streaming down her cheeks at the sight of William’s injuries.

“Fanny?” Jenny repeated when the young girl didn’t move.

“Yeth, ma’am.” Fanny stepped forward and looked to me with wide, scared eyes. “He’ll be alwight?”

I rested a comforting hand on her shoulder and said, “Of course he will, darling. I’ll make sure of it. Go help Jenny, now, please.”

When Fanny was gone, Jamie finally pulled his scrutinous eyes away from Miss Donadieu, and turned his eyes on mine.

“He’ll be alright, then?”

It was my turn to reassure him. “He’ll be fine. He’ll need a couple days treatment with penicillin and a few weeks to heal the broken leg. After that, he’ll be good as new. Physically, anyway.”

“Penicillin?” asked Miss Donadieu.

“Medicine for the fever,” I clarified.

She seemed shocked that such a thing could exist. I wondered if she was already beginning to think me a witch as most people were wont to do when they witnessed me practice medicine.

I pulled out the penis syringe modified for my injections and dipped it into the alcohol, cleaning it thoroughly. I had a fresh batch of penicillin on hand, made only yesterday. I filled the syringe and had Jamie turn Willie on his side so I could administer the injection.

“Dear God in heaven,” said Miss Donadieu, as I stabbed Willie in the arse.

Jamie laid Willie back down. He caressed his cheek while talking softly to him in Gaelic.

“Miss Donadieu,” I said, taking in the startling appearance of this stranger once more, “it seems we are in your debt for mending Mr. Ransom and delivering him so hastily to our care.”

She smiled modestly through exhausted eyes. I wondered how long it had been since she had any sleep. “Oh, I did what anyone would do, I’m sure.”

Jamie stepped away from Willie and stood by my side. “You’ve done a great service to our family, lass. I willna forget it.”

Though his words were certainly heartfelt, I felt a tension in Jamie’s body at Miss Donadieu’s presence. I was certain he was just as disconcerted by her as I was, though I wasn’t clear of his reasons.

“May I ask why you were you on the trail to the Ridge in the first place?” I said. “Are you acquainted with one of our tenants?”

She blushed profusely and looked back and forth between Jamie and me before saying, “No, actually. I know it may sound strange, but...but I came here to meet you. You are Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, are you not?”

“To meet us, ye say?” said Jamie.

“Well, Mrs. Fraser specifically.” She flushed again and looked down at her feet. This shy, blushing young woman bore no resemblance to the confident wound mender of moments before. I wondered what changed in her so quickly. “As I said, my grandfather raised me in Paris. He was a healer. He recently...died,” her voice broke on the word. “He spoke very highly of you, madame. He thought there was much I could learn from you should anything ever happen to him.”

“Your grandfather knew of me? Had we met before?” I asked.

“ _Oui_. He spoke of your friendship fondly.”

“Who was your grandsire then, lass?” said Jamie.

The young woman looked at me and said, “Many knew him as Maître Grenouille. He said you knew him as Maître Raymond.”

* * *

  
Later that night, I sat at my vanity as Jamie combed his fingers through the wild tangles of my hair. Both of us enjoyed the pleasure of the mindless task as our thoughts raced around consolidating the happenings of the day into some sort of coherent series of events.

We’d both observed Sophia Donadieu with acuity from the moment we left the surgery for supper and throughout the remainder of the evening. She had the presence of gentility and a woman of culture, though she was by no means born to nobility. She was well-mannered and reserved through the meal and exercised a great deal of patience with the hoards of young children living in the home.

“Watch how she listens,” Jamie whispered to me as our younger generation (Brianna, Roger, Rachel, and Ian) sat together by the hearth discussing Brianna’s attempts to make ceramic pipes.

Jamie was right, Sophia was a sponge. She sat next to Brianna focused intently on what our daughter was saying, a small smile playing across her lips. Her eyes frequently shifted to observe Jamie and myself, but would dart immediately back to others. The level of intensity of her observations was something I’d only ever witnessed before in Jamie.

We gave Miss Donadieu a pallet in Fanny’s room to spend the night. We hadn’t had a discussion yet on what we wanted to do with her moving forward. We’d save that for another day.

I tried not to grunt as Jamie worked through a particularly stubborn knot of my tangled hair.

“When does Willie get his next shot in the arse?” he asked

“In an hour. Then again another four hours after that.”

Between my internal alarm clock programmed to aid the sick and ailing, and Jamie’s anxiety over William’s attack, I was certain we wouldn’t oversleep and miss administering a dose. It would hardly surprise me if Jamie spent the night going up and down the stairs, back and forth from my side to Willie’s, counting the minutes before he woke up. In fact, the only reason Jamie wasn’t by his son’s side now was because Ian’s room was close to the surgery where Rachel could keep an eye on his condition through the night, and Ian could ensure his safety. Jamie’s worries for my own safety were likely what prevented him from standing guard himself.

“You don’t trust her, do you?” I said. “Miss Donadieu.”

“About as much as I trusted her so-called grandsire.”

“Master Raymond saved my life, you know. More than once. First with the Comte and the bitter cascara. Again when I lost Faith.”

“Aye, I ken. It’s no that I’m not grateful. Just wary. The lass saved Willie’s life, and I’m certainly in her debt, but I’ll still no give her a chance to undo her good deed.”

I watched Jamie in the mirror of my vanity. “Her eyes are...striking. Did you notice?”

“ _Hmphmf_.” His grunt was one of acknowledgement, not meant to convey an opinion on the matter.

“I thought of Geillis when I first saw her.”

“ _Hmphmf_.” This time the sound communicated disagreement. “Roger Mac has Geillis Duncan’s eyes, and they dinna appear so... _poisonous_ as our new friend.”

“Poisonous?”

“Aye. When an animal is colored that way, like a frog, it usually means they’re deadly if you eat them.”

“Well, we’ll have to attempt to abstain from cannibalism with our guest.”

“Just so.” He finished with my hair and led me to bed. His hand moved over the new rabbit’s fur blanket and said, “What’s this?”

“A gift from a patient.”

We lay on the soft fur and relaxed into each other’s arms. Nothing settled our restless souls quite like giving way to gravity at the end of the day with nothing between us but bare skin and undeniable attraction. Before I could allow my thoughts to fully shift to love-making, I still needed to put a few of the racing ones to bed for the evening.

“Why don’t you trust her, Jamie?” The truth was, I felt like there was much more to Sophia than she revealed to us, though I couldn’t pinpoint why that was, or whether or not it was any of my business.

He took a deep breath before he spoke, as though getting his thoughts together first. “Why would such a bonny woman, still of decent marrying age, cross the seas to train to be a healer under La Dame Blanche? Surely Master Raymond kent other friends she could learn from in Paris? We knew with certainty that he traveled in the same circles as the Comte St. Germain. There must’ve been some sorceress or magician nearby who could teach her how to brew violent concoctions or resurrect a man’s soul. She needn’t come specifically to you.”

“Hmm.” They were fair points.

“No, Sassenach, I find it verra strange that this lass should come here and cross paths with my son on his first trip to the Ridge. And she came through on the same day he was attacked by a violent stranger meandering across my land. It canna be a coincidence, _mo nighean donn_. I havena lived so long by dismissing this sickly feeling in my wame as spoilt supper.”

“You’re right. It would be quite the coincidence for the two occurrences to be completely unrelated.”

Jamie cupped my cheek, lifting my head to look him in the eyes. “What is it, Sassenach? What are ye no’ saying?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I’m letting old hurts and regrets color my feelings about this young woman.”

“How so?”

“She reminds me of Malva Christie, to be frank.” I felt Jamie tense at my words. “I mean, Malva wanted to learn from me too. I was so delighted to have an eager student to pass on all my knowledge, someone to tend to the ailing at the Ridge when I’m unable, and I...I loved that young woman as much as I love Rachel and Lizzie and Fanny. I was utterly betrayed by her...and then...she was gone…”

Murdered in my own garden.

“You think Miss Donadieu is planning the same as Malva Christie? Lure ye in as her mentor, then betray ye and our family?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. All I know for certain is that she saved William’s life. Yes, the circumstances are suspect, and yes, I’m concerned about our family, but Jamie, I _like_ her. She’s bright and obviously capable. I could teach her so much. And who knows? Maybe the attack on Willie had nothing to do with Sophia. Maybe it was something related to the people who are after Fergus? Or maybe...” I hesitated.

“What?”

“Willie looks so much like _you_...maybe…”

“Maybe someone mistook him for me?”

I nodded. “When the sun hits his hair just so, you can see traces of red. If they attacked him from behind...”

“None of the considerations ye present are very comforting, Sassenach.”

“No, they’re not.”

He sighed and kissed me gently. I knew it was to purge the tension in his heart. “Let us make use of your new rabbit pelt, my Sassenach. If yon lass shall slit my throat in my sleep, I might as well go to the next life a happy man.”

* * *

An hour later, after christening our new blanket with our love-making, I went down to give William his next dose of penicillin. I was surprised to find young Fanny sitting in my chair in the surgery keeping a watchful eye over her dear friend and protector. I probably should have told the young girl to go to her room and get some sleep, but I doubted she would listen and would likely find it easier to rest, hearing the sounds of William’s regular breathing.

Jamie was awake and staring out the window when I returned to bed. “He’s still fevered, but his vitals are strong. He’ll be better in a day or two.”

“Thank you, _mo chridhe_.”

And with that, Jamie curled around me and promptly fell asleep. I tried following him into that loss of consciousness, but my eyes kept irrationally flickering over to the cupboard door where the golden ingot seemed to be emanating an invisible pulse like some sort of signal fire drawing in the ominous and dangerous to the Ridge.


	3. Secrets and Fantastical Tales

“Good morning, Mother Claire,” said a hoarse voice as I walked through my surgery door shortly after dawn.

“Oh wonderful, you’re awake. And how are you feeling, William?”

“I’ve been better,” he said, his mouth lifted slightly in humor. He was so much like Jamie it was startling. Most disconcerting was hearing Jamie’s voice speak with an English accent. It always felt blasphemous.

A small form resting on my surgery chair shook her head and opened her eyes. “William!”

“Hello, Fanny dear.” He gave her a small, sad smile. I was sure he was thinking of Fanny’s late sister...Jane. He hadn’t the ability to hide his emotions quite like his father.

“Are you alright?” Fanny said the words with care, trying to show William the progress made in her speech.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine now that I’m in both your and Mother Claire’s very capable care.”

“Fanny, darling,” I said, “do you remember how to make the willow bark tea? I’m sure William is in a great deal of pain and could use some relief.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She stood and gave a quiet smile to William before she left the room.

I began my examination of the patient, much to his discomfort. He valiantly endured with relatively few complaints and even fewer sarcastic remarks about a surgeon’s sadistic impulses.

A large figure at the door momentarily distracted my attention. Jamie was watching with a darkness in his blue eyes. I knew that shadow wouldn’t truly leave until he found out who harmed his son and sought his vengeance.

“Come in and make yourself useful,” I suggested. “William needs another dose of penicillin.”

“I dinna envy ye that, lad,” said Jamie, easing the awkwardness between the two of them.

As I prepared the syringe and the injection site, I heard Willie mumble to Jamie who was helping him turn on his side, “Is that why I have a pain in my arse? From one of her torturous healing devices?”

“Aye. I’ve been there myself. Somethin’ about killing wee beasties in yer body making ye ill.”

I administered the injection, and Jamie laid him back down with care.

Attempting pleasant conversation, William said, “Fanny looks well.”

“Aye,” said Jamie. “She’s a good lass, and there’s much to do on the Ridge to keep her mind distracted.”

“I’m grateful you’ve taken her in.”

“ _Och_ , think nothing of it.” Jamie patted Willie’s shoulder in one of the few spaces of bare skin that wasn’t black and blue.

Jamie looked to me with a raised eyebrow. I nodded to give my consent for Jamie to start his interrogation.

“Do ye remember what happened, William? Do ye recall who did this to ye?”

William closed his eyes tight, as though visualizing the attack as best he could, “I don’t remember everything...I was accosted from behind, I’m certain of that...I don’t know what he looked like.”

“From behind, huh? A coward, then,” Jamie spat. “It was one man?”

“I’m not entirely certain, but I don’t remember anyone else...except…”

“Except what?” Jamie’s fingers twitched at his side.

“There was a girl...a woman. She happened upon me when I woke sometime later. I…” William looked to me. “I thought she was you for a moment, but her eyes were so green...and she...she…” He stopped short and his eyes went wide as a memory was retrieved.

“She what?”

He looked away, clearly deciding not to share some particulars of his story. “She mended my leg. In my fever, I think I might’ve suffered some delirium. I’m afraid I’m a poor historian of my own experience.”

Jamie and I exchanged glances...he picked up on William’s withholding of information.

“Cousin! Ye’re bonny as ever,” said Ian, walking into the room wearing his hunting attire. “The fever has given you a right pretty glow about yer face, much like the last time I saved ye in the woods.”

“At least my escort this time saw fit to give me my own pallet to be hauled around on, rather than having me share with a feline corpse.”

Ian put a hand on William’s arm and said, “Yer Da and I’ll get the bastards who did this to ye. I swear it.”

William gave a quick soldier’s nod, but by the way he closed his eyes immediately after, I could tell the bump on his head was still causing him a good deal of pain. He spoke through gritted teeth, “If only I could go with you.”

After a few more pleasantries exchanged, Jamie took Ian away to his office, likely to strategize the search and investigation. William, however, was at no loss for visitors. Brianna, Mandy, Jenny, Rachel, and Fanny were eager to tend to him and distract from his pain and frustrated helplessness, though I wasn’t so sure that being unable to excuse himself from a room of that many bullheaded Frasers would allow him an improvement in his subjective experience of helplessness.

I, fortunately, was _not_ that helpless and could leave as I pleased. I did just that as soon as Fanny arrived with William’s tea. I found myself going to Jamie’s study where Ian and Roger stood across from Jamie at his desk.

“If possible, I want him alive, Ian,” said Jamie. My heart clenched at the thought of Jamie having to kill another man in cold blood for harming his family. I still wasn’t fully reconciled with the death of the last man he killed for harming me. I wondered if he’d give William the opportunity to exact his own justice, or if Jamie would save him the guilt of taking a life himself. The only outcome that wouldn’t be considered was that the assailant would survive his choice to harm William.

“I’ll try my best to bring him to ye still breathing, Uncle. Rachel will be pleased if I’m successful in that venture.”

“I’ll see to her safety and that of the wean.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

Jamie stared at his nephew with all the affection in which he looked upon his own son, “Off wi’ ye, then. He’s got a few days on ye as it is.”

Ian nodded and headed for the door, kissing my cheek on his way out.

“Roger Mac, you’ll prepare to go to Wilmington wi’ Fergus? I’ll no have him travelling alone.”

“Of course.”

“Go on. He’ll be here shortly wi’ the wagon, and Jenny’s packed enough provisions for ye both.”

Roger left the same way as Ian just did.

Much like a balloon letting out air, Jamie deflated in a long exhale, settling back in his large chair.

“Oh, Jamie.” I went to him, and he pulled me on his lap, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face in my hair.

“It’s fine, Sassenach. Everything will be just fine.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one comforting you?”

“Ye are, _mo nighean donn_. When ye tend to my son, when ye give me yer body, when ye let me hold ye tight and believe me when I say I’ll keep this family safe, ye give me great comfort.”

I tipped my head up to look him in his tired eyes. Despite a few fine lines and their current weary set, his eyes were much the same as the day I met him. “I do believe you, Jamie.”

At my words, pleasure appeared through the weariness, and he bent his head to kiss my lips. He was so gentle in that beautiful way of large, powerful men, containing and controlling himself to care for the woman in his arms.

“Aye, ye’re a great comfort, indeed, my Sassenach,” he whispered.

I opened my mouth to him and let him take his comfort as he would, just as I took mine from him. My relationship with Jamie had, from the start, been one of symbiotic mutualism, one sustaining the other when we were together, both deprived of life and vitality when apart. The pleasure of each other was a comfort even in the worst of distress.

I’d once told Jamie that pleasure came from a dump of electrochemicals in the brain that made the body want more and more of whatever it was doing. He liked the thought of “wee fiery shocks” coursing through him when he lay with me. I quite liked the thought myself.

I could feel those wee fiery shocks tickling the most sensitive parts of my body as his hand moved over the curves he did so enjoy. He deepened our kiss and squeezed my breast, making me whimper in his hands.

“Those sounds ye make, Sassenach, tell me just how I rouse ye. What a joy it was the first time I heard them, to know what I could do to ye. What a joy it is still.”

His hand moved further and grabbed my bottom, squeezing it tight and pulling me closer. The linen of his shirt was soft under my hands, and I could feel his muscles tensed, his nipples erect, and his body coiled. My poor brutish Scot couldn’t take out his tension on the people threatening our family, but he could find a way to lose it with me.

A rush of cool air graced my lower half as my skirts were pulled up enough for his hands to find my most sensitive skin. Dear God, my husband knew his way around my body.

He set off all my “wee fiery shocks” with his fingers sliding in and out of me. The best part was, as the spiritual man whom James Fraser most certainly identified himself to be, he thought it a sacrament of God to pleasure me so, his holy duty to his wife and to his Lord and savior.

 _Hallelujah_.

In the midst of a very pleasurable stroke, Jamie suddenly froze.

“Oh, dear God!” said a shocked voice at the door. “My apologies! I didn’t realize...the door was open.”

I refused to turn my head to look at our intruder. I could hear the mortification in Miss Donadieu’s voice and had no desire to reciprocate in kind and expose the embarrassment on my face. I had completely forgotten we’d left the door open. The door in question was hastily shut as Sophia made a very loud and clumsy retreat.

Jamie’s tension eased and his shoulders bounced in amusement. I reluctantly peered up at him just as he shrugged in a gesture of resignation. “Nothin’ to be done about it now,” he reasoned.

“I suppose you’re right. Though, I can’t imagine the young lady will be all too eager to listen to the lecture I intended to give her about germs today.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure she’ll be pleased not to have to be the one speaking for some time. Ye’d think a Frenchwoman would have more a steady wame at the sight of love-making.”

Jamie lifted me up and sat me on his desk. By the way he stepped between my thighs and hiked up my skirts, I didn’t think he was much put off by the intrusion. _What the hell_ , I thought to myself. The door was closed now anyway.

All thoughts of threats and interruptions were completely gone with Jamie pushing deep inside me and triggering an eruption of wee little shocks.

* * *

Adjusting my skirts after the completion of my husband’s sacramental duty, I headed back to the surgery to check on William. I’d hoped Sophia wasn’t around while I was still flustered with my recent physical exertion. I might run the poor girl off without giving William the chance to thank her for saving his life.

As I reached the door, I found I had not yet run the poor girl off. Although, that wasn’t to say someone else wouldn’t do the job for me. She was in with William having a tense, hushed conversation.

“Please, just do it again,” said William. “One more time.”

“It’s broad daylight, and your family are here. Someone might walk in and see,” said Sophia.

“Just once. You can do it quickly.”

“I told you. We need more time in between.”

William’s fist hit the table. “Please. Help me.”

“Give it a few days. We’ll try again then. Now is not the time.”

I stepped into the surgery, “Try what again?”

William looked at me, then looked away. “Nothing.”

“I hope you’re not asking for some sort of mystical remedy. Broken bones take time to heal.”

Sophia was looking at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. Perhaps I misunderstood what was happening.

“Are you well, Miss Donadieu?”

“ _Oui_ , madame.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’re turning a little green.” And she was. The color of her skin was nearing that of her eyes.

“I think...I just...I just need some air, madame.” Sophia darted past Claire and headed for the front door.

I turned to William, “What’s going on?”

“I scarcely know.” He did look bewildered.

I followed Sophia outside and watched as she made it to the trees and began vomiting what little was in her stomach. Thank goodness we hadn’t had breakfast yet.

She finished spitting up by the time I reached her, but was still slumped over and leaning against the tree. I put a comforting hand on her back as she caught her breath.

Finally, she stood up to her full height, which was around about the same as mine. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“For getting ill? As though you had control over it?” I pulled out my handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead. I gave it over to her so she could wipe her mouth and nose, and while she did so I checked her pulse. Elevated, but slowing to normal.

“At least I made it out of your surgery. I wasn’t certain I would for a moment.”

“Courteous of you, dear, but I can assure you, that surgery has seen a few substances worse than vomit on the floor. I’m sure you were used to such things with your grandfather around.”

She laughed a sweet, melodic sound. I was truly quite taken with her voice...all of her, really. Her vivid green eyes looked even brighter than usual. They were standing out against the red complementary color that filled the whites of her tearful eyes. She had lovely bones and bright, glowing skin. Her face was framed by dark brown hair pinned tightly back, though some of the hair was making a decided effort to loose itself from its bindings.

There was a timelessness about her that made it difficult to guess her age. There were moments I thought her in her forties, and other times I thought she couldn’t be five and twenty. But looking at her now, I honestly had no clue her age.

“How old are you, Sophia?”

She looked taken aback by my question. Apparently, she wasn’t used to such directness. Or maybe it was my timing. “I’m five and thirty.”

“Here,” I pulled her down to sit in the shade with me. “Let’s chat while you rest a moment.”

We settled down and leaned back against the tree. I could tell she was curious about me; her eyes would flicker up to my face, then dart away when she saw me watching.

“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “Aside from Master Raymond, did you have any family?”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. “No, my parents died when I was young, and my grandfather raised me.”

“I’m sorry to hear. My parents also died when I was young. I was raised by my uncle.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he studied historical artifacts all over the world, and I traveled along with him in my youth.”

“How fascinating. Why did you stop travelling with your uncle?”

“My uncle also died early in my adulthood. I was quite determined to become a healer for as long as I can remember, so I took care of myself until I got married.” I cocked my head to the side. “How about you? Have you ever been married?”

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I, too, have been determined to be a healer most of my life. That didn’t leave much time for marriage.”

“That’s quite...unusual...for a woman,” at least in this time. “Especially one so fair as you. You don’t want children or a family? You aren’t interested in amorous entanglements? Security?”

She seemed almost affronted at my questions and looked up to meet my eyes. Upon seeing no judgment, only curiosity, her face and the set of her shoulders relaxed. She even smiled sheepishly.

“I’m from Paris, madame. It is rare to keep free of romantic entanglements in that city.”

“Ah, yes. How quickly I’ve forgotten what it was like to live there.”

One of her fingers absent-mindedly traced circles in the dirt as her attention focused inward on her thoughts.

“You have a beautiful family, Mrs. Fraser.”

“Thank you, darling. But please, do call me Claire.”

“Claire.” The sound of my name from her voice was nothing short of lovely. “I’ve only been at your Ridge a short time, but there is a beautiful sense of _home_ and _family_ about the place. It’s making me question my decisions to lead a more solitary life. You seem quite fulfilled.”

“I am. But I know this kind of life is not for everyone.”

“A spouse who loves and adores you? A home? A worthwhile occupation? A legacy of children and grandchildren? What’s not to admire?” Sophia smiled wistfully and placed a hand on her belly in a way I was all too familiar with. Her sudden and violent sickness a moment ago was becoming all the more clear. “Your daughter, Brianna...she seems a...a lovely girl. You care for her very much.”

I reached over and grabbed her hand. “As a woman who grew up without a mother, my relationship with my daughter has been more dear to me than I could have ever imagined. It wasn’t always easy, of course, but I’m so very lucky to have her.”

A lone tear rolled down Sophia’s cheek and landed on her dress. She looked up at me and smiled softly. “Is she your only child?” She flushed red. “Or is that presumptuous of me to ask? I gathered that Mr. Ransom is not your son, but quite obviously Mr. Fraser’s...I...oh dear...I need to stop talking.”

I laughed and gently patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. No, William is Jamie’s son, and my stepson. After I was pregnant with Brianna, Jamie and I were separated for a time. We thought each other dead for about twenty years.”

“I see.”

I decided to stop talking around the issue and just come out and ask her. “How far along are you, Sophia?”

She huffed a breath and blew her nose into my handkerchief. “Nearing three months.”

“And the father?”

She sobbed aloud, her body shaking and convulsing. I embraced her, rocking her gently, stroking back the curls of hair that escaped their pins in this already too eventful day.

When she composed herself, she sat back against the tree and closed her eyes. “Paul. His name is Paul.”

“What’s he like?”

She gave a deep dramatic sigh of a Frenchwoman in love. “He’s tall and broad, with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Handsome?”

The dreamy look in her eyes answered for her.

“Where is he?”

Pain and tears instantly replaced that dreamy gaze. “I don’t know. He just...left.”

“Just gone? From one day to the next?”

“He left a note of apology, but _oui_ , from one day to the next. And now I am carrying his child, and he’s nowhere to be found.”

“You lost your grandfather and your lover, and now you’ve traveled to the new world pregnant with his child? What happens if he goes back looking for you?”

“I left a note for him telling him where I am...but he’ll never receive it. He was clear...he’s not planning on returning to me…not in this life.”

“Is that why you came to America? Because you’re pregnant with a man’s baby without being married?”

She shrugged and looked at the ground.

“Are you planning on staying here? You could just say you were married and your husband died. No one would ever know. Your reputation wouldn’t suffer in the slightest.”

She snorted and looked up to me, “No, Claire. I’ve no intention of staying here. I will go home before this baby comes...for the sake of the child.”

“In case its father comes back?”

She shrugged again. “Perhaps.”

There was much she wasn’t telling me, I was sure, but I could see that what she did share with me was honest. Few could feign that kind of heartbreak. It wasn’t the kind of pain I felt when I lost Jamie, but perhaps the pain I felt losing Frank.

“Come here, darling.” I pulled her in for another embrace and let her sob on my shoulder. “I know there are things you can’t tell me, and that’s fine for now. But for your health and your child’s, you’ll stay here with us as long as you need.”

“Mr. Fraser won’t mind?”

I scoffed, “Mr. Fraser will do as I ask. Besides, you saved his son. And if I know my husband, there are three ways into his heart...mending his bones, caring for his children, and filling his empty stomach. He’s very grateful for what you did for William.”

“Thank you for your invitation, Mrs. Fraser. I shall gladly accept, though I do intend to return home before this child is born.”

“Well then, we only have a couple of months together, seeing as how you can’t be in the middle of the ocean having that baby. Poor weather could leave you at sea for three or four months.”

She smiled and looked away. Yes, I was sure there was a great deal she hadn’t told me.

“Everything alright, Sassenach?” said Jamie’s voice behind me. How such a bloody large Scot could move so quietly in the wilderness was just beyond me. “Willie said the lass was taken ill.”

“She’s fine. We were about to head back inside for breakfast.” I reached out a hand for Jamie to assist me up. He helped me, then offered his hand to Sophia.

She stood too quickly for her delicate state and nearly fell over. Jamie caught her in both of his arms and held her upright. “Sassenach?”

Sophia was already standing on her own and feeling steady by the time I checked her pulse and pupil response. Jamie refused to let her go completely, even when she insisted she was fine.

“She just needs a little food and water,” I said. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow in question, and I patted my belly gently in response then pointed to Sophia. He made one of his Scottish noises of understanding and led the woman into the house.

He took her directly into the kitchen and made sure she was served up a plate with enough food to feed the likes of John Quincy Myers. Once he observed the girl eating with the same enthusiasm as I’d seen John Quincy Myers do on occassion, he came over to me and whispered, “The lass is wi’ child, then?”

“About three months along. She’ll be showing soon.”

“All the more heroic what she did for Willie...hauling him around the countryside, tending his life-threatening wounds.”

“Indeed.”

“The father?”

I shook my head, “Gone.”

“Dead?”

“No, he left her.”

“Wi’ a wean?” Jamie’s shocked disapproval at such dishonorable behavior was always a pleasure to hear.

“He didn’t know, apparently. They weren’t married. She’s heartbroken.”

“Even I can see that, Sassenach. Poor lass, misused so.”

“She’s going to stay with us a few months. She intends to go back to Paris before the child is born.”

“That’s madness. Och, no. We must convince her to stay, for her safety as well as the bairn. The lass doesna know what losing a child would mean.”

“I know. I offered for her to stay as long as she needed, but she seems determined.”

“Perhaps ye’ll share wi’ her about Faith...how everything happened...what that loss was like. The risk isna worth it.”

“Not to you or I, but we don’t get to decide for her, Jamie.”

He gave a very Scottish “ _Hmphmf_ ” to indicate his displeasure with allowing people to make decisions contrary to his counsel.

“Ah,” he said, distracted by something outside, “Fergus is here wi’ the wagon.”

Fergus came into the house in search of Roger, but was detoured by the smell of the sausages Jenny and Brianna had cooked for breakfast.

“ _Bonjour_ , Milady,” he said, sweeping into the kitchen, giving me a kiss on each cheek in his very French manner.

“Paul?”

All our heads turned to Sophia who had stood up from her plate and took slow steps toward me and Fergus. Her eyes were wide, like she’d seen a ghost. It took me a moment to realize she was talking in rapid French.

“ _Excusez-moi_?” said Fergus. He continued in French, though this time I was prepared for it. “My name is Fergus Fraser. I do not know this Paul you speak of.”

“This is our son,” I said. “He’s from France as well.”

Sophia’s eyes had landed on Fergus’s hook. She looked him over once more as the heat of shame colored her face. She looked to me, then back to Fergus.

“ _Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur Fraser_. I confused you for an old acquaintance of mine. Your resemblance to him is quite remarkable.” She turned to me. “I did not know your son was a Frenchman.”

”We adopted Fergus in his youth.”

“Of course. A silly mistake of mine to think all Frenchmen look alike.” She looked back to Fergus. “ _Je suis désolé..._ ”

With one more lingering glance at Fergus, she rushed away for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for leaving such encouraging comments and kudos. They are truly cold water to a fanfic writer's weary soul.


	4. The Frenchmen

Having Jenny live with us at our new house was far more pleasant than I originally anticipated...particularly during meal times and on laundry day. All I had to endure was a few passive-aggressive comments and some raised eyebrows when I disappeared into my garden or the surgery in exchange for regular clean clothes and food far more delicious than anything I had the patience to prepare.

I was quite sure Jenny enjoyed her haughty superiority at my inability to run. It gave her purpose and a sense of self-efficacy...at least, that’s what I told myself with satisfaction as I avoided the chores of the house and brought a basket of freshly prepared food (not by me) down to Bree’s house to feed Jamie, Ian, William, and Brianna.

Jamie and Ian were working on the roof and stopped what they were doing when they saw me coming. I watched the men drop down with ever surprising physical grace to come relieve me of my burden.

“Ye’re a sight for sore eyes, Auntie Claire,” said a ravenous Ian. I accepted his pungent, sweaty hug and kiss with as much grace as I could muster.

“A sight for sore eyes, indeed,” rumbled Jaime as he took his nephew’s place giving me a hug and kissing my cheek. This time, the pungent, male odor and the sweat absorbing into my dress were more than welcome.

Ian took the basket to the shade of a nearby tree where William and Brianna were sitting with Mandy. Brianna was filthy, covered in dirt from her work assembling her ceramic pipes, and Mandy was showing her injured uncle the fine make of her dolly’s new gown that Auntie Jenny had helped her sew.

We all sat together around the food. I helped William make a plate, because even though he insisted he was fine and was healing rapidly, I didn’t want to risk reinjury of his broken leg. He really was healing at an astonishing rate. I couldn’t believe it had only been a couple of weeks since the attack. Not even Jamie healed as quickly as William.

“Yer appetite’s returned to ye, lad?” Jamie asked William in rhetorical teasing. William was inhaling his food with more gusto than I’d ever seen a young Englishman of noble title. William shrugged and kept eating.

“His body needs the nourishment to keep up with his rapid rate of healing,” I said with a chiding glance at Jamie. “As a matter of fact, I remember once bringing a picnic similar to this one to a ravenous, wounded young Scot some thirty-six years ago. He ate quite heartily enough...he even told me a story of once being so famished that he ate blades of winter grass in an unsuccessful attempt to stave off his hunger.”

Laughter sounded all around, except from William whose face was pinched with distaste. Jamie’s grinning eyes were momentarily lost in wistful memories, “Ah, yes. I remember it well...ye were luggin’ that basket of food down to the stables and tryin’ to get me to take off my shirt, chasin’ me around with yer bandages and potions. Tell me, Sassenach, were ye sae diligent with all yer patients, or was the young Mr. McTavish an exception?”

“McTavish?” said Ian.

My eyes met Jamie’s, and I bubbled with laughter. “When I met your uncle, he had a price on his head, and seeing as how the MacKenzies suspected me a Sassenach spy, I wasn’t trusted with Jamie’s real name until moments before we wed.”

“You’re serious?” said William. Brianna and Ian found the tale highly amusing, but William’s eyes were wide with shock.

“Aye,” Jamie laughed. “My Uncle Dougal nearly strung me up for insisting on being married in my Fraser tartan.”

I sighed with pleasure at the memory of my first time seeing Jamie in his Fraser red. As if reading my mind, Jamie said, “I havena given ye too much reason to regret marrying me instead of my cousin Rupert, have I?”

I patted his cheek lovingly, “No, darling. Of all my captors, you, by far, smelled the least noxious. I’m sure if I would’ve married any of the other bachelors, I’d have not survived my captivity due to complications from excessive regurgitation.”

“That was my most redeeming virtue, was it? I smelled better than Angus?”

William stared at me with his jaw agape. “Captors? You were abducted by these men?”

I nodded pleasantly.

“Why on earth would you marry a man you hardly knew from a group of criminals and kidnappers?” He seemed to realize the impertinence of his question, and quickly amended, “Apologies, Mother Claire. I didn’t mean…”

I smiled and explained, “It was all very political and complicated. While the Highlanders thought me a spy for the English, a certain captain of His Majesty’s 8th dragoons thought me a spy for the Highlanders, and his methods of extracting information from me were...quite brutal. The only way Dougal MacKenzie could keep me away from Captain Randall was to turn me into a Scot...by marriage.”

I looked at Jamie fondly. “Marrying Mr. MacTavish here seemed a slightly more favorable option than the horrors awaiting me with the villainous captain.”

“Dear God,” said William. He looked to his father, “And you agreed to marry her to keep her safe?”

Jamie smirked darkly as he responded. “Aye, I couldna let the wee Sassenach lassie be handed over to the English...especially to that particular man.”

“So, your marriage was arranged?” This seemed to be the greatest shock to William more so than anything else he’d heard. “The way the two of you...I mean...It seems a fortunate match.”

“Arranged? Nah,” laughed Ian, waving off Jamie’s noble gesture. “Mam says Uncle Jamie was as giddy as a pup with twa tails to be married to Auntie Claire. She said if Auntie Claire had the mind of fool, he’d have fought the whole MacKenzie clan to escape Dougal’s match-making.” Ian turned to William, “Ye canna force a Fraser to do anything against their will, and ye canna outwit a MacKenzie in love or politics. Och, no, if that wedding was arranged by anyone, it was by Uncle Jamie himself.”

Jamie was smiling softly with his blue eyes gently on mine. If there was one thing I’d grown to learn since marrying the man sitting in front of me, it was to have absolute faith in him. His scheming was often so subtle it would go unnoticed. Perhaps, that was the genius of it.

Jamie’s large hand grabbed mine and squeezed, sharing his fierce and barely contained passion. As though he couldn’t help himself, even in the presence of company, he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles, lips parted ever so slightly with a promise for so much more.

It took a few moments to realize conversation had carried on without us. By the look in Jamie’s eyes, I was certain the private physical conversation happening between us wasn’t over either. Jamie was sure to pick it up again later.

“It seems ye’re healing right quick, cousin,” said Ian. “I was only gone two weeks and ye’re movin’ around well enough.”

William squared his shoulders and said, “I’m determined to face my assailant personally. You said you think you know where he’s hiding?”

“Not exactly.” Ian looked to Jamie. “I’m pretty sure the Browns have been helpin’ him, but seein’ as how they have bad blood with the Frasers, they wouldna divulge that information to me.”

“Then how are you certain he was there?”

“Ute McGillivray, a tenant of the Ridge, saw a bloodied stranger heading to Brownsville shortly after your attack. Richard Brown said such a man came through. Said it was just a stranger who stopped for provisions and moved on. I scouted the direction Brown said he went, but there wasna any sign of a bloody traveler Northbound.”

“Did you try East or South?”

“I did. No one admitted seein’ anything. On my way back to Brownsville, a few lads no more than twelve or thirteen were huntin’ in the woods. Bribed them wi’ a wee bit of gold. They said Brown took the man in. They said he smuggled the man away in the cover of darkness. I watched Brown’s house for some time, and there wasna any sign of a guest stayin’ there, so I’m apt to believe the lads.”

“Richard Brown?” said Brianna. “Why would Richard Brown help someone who attacked William?” She looked to her father. “Wouldn’t he be worried about you retaliating?”

Jamie’s face was set cold as he answered, “If Brown didna arrange for the beating himself, I dinna doubt he’d be a friend to anyone wishing me ill.”

“Do you think he had me attacked in anger at you?” asked William.

“I dinna ken, laddie. I dinna ken.”

* * *

  
“Do you think Richard Brown arranged with that man to have you killed and attacked William instead?” I asked.

“ _Hmphmf_ ,” Jamie gave one of his noncommittal sounds.

Mandy’s dark, curly hair bounced wildly as she skipped up the hill to the house. Jamie held the picnic basket in one hand and my waist in his other as he escorted me home. The flowers were in bloom, and the butterflies were fluttering from one blossom to the next. Mandy chased the butterflies and carefully plucked her favorite flowers. It was an idyllic setting, unless you were talking about murder for hire.

As we made it to the house, Amanda bounded up to me with two fist fulls of wild flowers. She handed one of them over, full of lovely blue blossoms of aster, knapweed, violets.

“Oh thank you, my darling,” I said, pulling her in for a hug. It was years since Jamie had last given me a posy, and heaven knew how much I loved flowers.

“That’s right sweet of ye, lassie,” said Jamie. “And who is the other posy for? Ye’re mam?”

“No, Grand-da. They’re for Miss Sophie. She’s blue like Grannie.”

“Blue?”

“ _Hmphmf_.” I tried my own hand at making a Scottish noise as Mandy skipped inside to find the other blue member of the household.

Jamie led me inside, discarding the picnic basket by the front door as only Himself could get away with in house run by Jenny Murray. He escorted me to my surgery where I found a little jar for my flowers.

I turned at the sound of Jamie closing the door behind us. He had a look of concern on his face.

“You’ve been blue, Sassenach?”

“No more or less than usual,” I said. “Children are sometimes fanciful in their interpretation of an adult’s emotion.”

“I dinna ken about that. Especially that wee lassie. The bairns usually see things more honest than we do, and Amanda particularly so.”

I sighed deeply and reflected further as Jamie closed the space between us. “I guess I’ve been worried about William...and you. But I’ve been worried about you since the day I set your dislocated arm.”

He held my face in his large, rough hands. “That’s all, is it?”

“I suppose not...I have been thinking about Faith a bit more, what with our young house-guest planning on sailing the Atlantic in her third trimester of pregnancy.”

Jamie placed a gentle kiss on my forehead, and suddenly, the sadness of the loss rose up and caught in my throat.

“It’s alright, _mo nighean donn_.” I was shocked at how close the emotions were to the surface. Perhaps Mandy was more perceptive than I gave her credit for. Jamie mumbled comforting words of Gaelic in my ear that I didn’t try to interpret. I just let the deep, rhythmic sound surround me along with Jamie’s sweet embrace.

“It’s like you said in the Spaniard’s cave about your dream,” I told Jamie. “I think of her loss and ache over what could have been if she lived. All my hopes and dreams for Faith died along with her. She didn’t get even the smallest chance at life. I don’t have any memories of her laughing or crying. No joy to cherish. The only memory I have is holding her tiny, cold, unmoving, little body in my arms.”

“Oh, _mo chridhe_. That I could’ve been there for ye when she died.”

How many times had I wished for the very same thing? “You were there when you could be.”

“I’m sae grateful to her, ye ken,” he said. “To Faith.”

“Whatever for?”

“I didna get to be wi’ ye when ye were carrying Brianna. If no for Faith, I wouldna have seen how yer skin glowed when ye were wi’ child. I wouldna have been able to rub the aches and pains from yer feet, or run for a bin when ye lost hold of yer breakfast.” He grinned softly and moved his hands over my curves, “I wouldna have seen yer bosom swell, nor felt its round, heavy weight in my hands. I wouldna have kent what it felt like to make love to ye with yer legs astride me and yer womb pressing firm against my belly.”

His hand caressed my stomach as he continued, “And I wouldna have kent the sight of my bairn growing in ye, kicking and whirling about like a hare trapped in a snare. Oh, aye, Claire...I’m sae grateful for all Faith gave her undeserving father.”

“Oh, Jamie. You deserved all that and more.”

He kissed me and said, “Ye _have_ given me sae much more, Sassenach.” He kissed me again and laughed, “We’ve got more bairns running around this house than we ken what to do wi’.”

Only Jamie could turn my sorrow to joy so quickly. I kissed him again with soft lips, opening for him so he could fill me full.

“When we were apart,” I told him, “my pain was...heavy, It was so difficult to carry on my own. It’s easier when you carry it with me.”

“For me as well, _mo nighean donn_.”

* * *

Several days later, Sophia drew back from my microscope, eyes wide with shock. “And that’s…?”

“Penicillin. It kills the germs that cause infection,” I said.

“This is what you used on William? And you made it from moldy bread?”

“Well, I collected it from moldy bread.”

Sophia laughed, “La Dame Blanche, indeed. No wonder everyone thinks you’re a witch. It must seem like magic that you can cure a deadly fever with moldy bread.”

I smiled, pleased she wasn’t disposed to think me a witch. “You don’t think it’s magic?”

“It’s science, is it not? I can see the little creatures myself, and I watched you take them from the bread. It seems to me that anyone could do that, with the right knowledge. Whereas magic could only be done by a witch, no?”

I reminded myself where (and who) she came from…

“And what would you call your grandfather? Was he a witch?”

Sophia smiled knowingly. “I guess by society’s standards, many would’ve called him such. Perhaps we just don’t have the right kind of microscope to see the science behind his ‘magic.’ But no...I’d call him a healer...that was the nature of his soul. He healed you, did he not?”

That caught me off guard. “He told you?”

She nodded tentatively. Her voice was soft as she said, “He said you were dying in childbirth…”

“I was.”

Sophia’s hand dropped to her womb.

“You know, Sophia, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your plans for travel while pregnant.”

“Are you cautioning me against going home before I have this child?”

“The risks to you and your baby are far greater than you think, darling. I…” my voice trailed off. I tried again, “I hate to imagine something happening to you...or your baby. If you stay here, I’m your best chance at having a safe, healthy delivery.”

She walked to the window of the surgery with her hand on her belly. She stared out over the majestic view of the ridge, but her mind didn’t follow her eyes. She was lost in some deep inner thought. When she spoke, it felt disconnected somehow, “Thank you for your counsel, Claire, but I really cannot stay longer than I’ve planned. I have my reasons…”

Her willful stubbornness was as maddening as Jamie’s. “You could die, Sophia. Do you understand that?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Your baby could die! You have no idea what it would mean to lose a child!”

Her head snapped around quickly, and her eyes met mine. There was a deep, painful sadness in her gaze. “But you do.”

“Yes, I do.” I felt tears moisten my eyes. I closed the distance between us and put my hands on her shoulders. “If there was a way to go back and do things differently...If saving my child meant lying in a hospital bed for nine months, I’d do it. I’d do anything to have her alive and well.”

The whites of her eyes were colored over with red, making the green stand out unnaturally bright. A single tear fell down her cheek as she looked achingly back at me.

As though she couldn’t help herself, she stepped into me and wrapped her arms tight around me. I held her close as she shuddered and quaked in my arms, sobbing noisily. I could feel her tears on my neck and wondered what could possibly be so important that it would drive this woman to risk both her life and her child’s in such a way.

As I ran my hand over her dark, curly hair, thoughts of Faith rose up so fresh and vital in my mind that I was sobbing right along with her. I thought of holding that tiny little body in my arms...her translucent, pearly skin...her soft, red hair. I mourned for my child as Sophia feared for hers.

I don’t know how long we stood there, crying together, taking comfort from the bond of mothers, but my attention was only drawn away by the sound of someone at the door. He must have wanted us to know he was there, because it was Jamie, and the only noises he ever made were intentional.

“Are ye and the lass well, Sassenach?” he asked softly. He knew exactly what we were talking about from our previous discussion, so I wondered why he was interrupting...he wouldn’t do so unless it was important.

“Of course.” I untangled myself from Sophia and we wiped the tears from our eyes.

Jamie let out a gasp looking between Sophia and I, then seemed to forget how to breathe all together. It was almost as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Are you alright, Jamie? Has something happened?”

“Oh, aye, Sassenach,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fergus has returned from Wilmington. He met someone there and thought it best to talk to ye about it.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said.

“Ah, no, Sassesnach. I’d like ye to come, but I was talking to the lass.”

I turned to Sophia who seemed as surprised as me.

“Alright then.” She wiped away the last of her tears with the pads of her fingers and patted her hair as if it might help contain it somehow. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“What’s going on?” I whispered to Jamie as we waited in the kitchen for Roger to fetch Ian.

This was to be a family discussion, apparently. Fergus was pouring glasses of whisky all around. The only people missing were Jenny and Marsali who were taking care of the children.

Jamie’s eyes were narrowed at Sophia as he said, “I’m curious the answer to that myself.” His eyes softened when he looked at me. I must have still had evidence crying lingering on my face. “Ye told the lass about Faith, aye?”

“I did.”

“Did she change her mind, then?”

I shook my head, “Unfortunately, no. There’s a lot she isn’t telling me.”

“I ken that much.” He looked at me with narrowed eyes, as though scrutinizing my features. He traced his thumb along my cheekbone and down the curve of my jaw.

“What?” I said.

He forced a smile and shook his head. “’Tis nothin’, Sassenach. I just like the look of ye, is all.”

Roger led Ian into the kitchen as Fergus distributed whisky around the room. When everyone was settled, he drank back his glass and poured himself another before getting started. An ominous sign.

“Oh dear,” I mumbled and took a preemptive drink myself. Jamie did the same.

“Out wi’ it, Fergus. What do ye need to tell us?” said Jamie.

“ _Oui_ , Milord.” He took a deep steadying breath. “While we were in Wilmington for supplies, we did as you told us and asked about William’s attacker. After several days of finding nothing of significance, Roger was able to bribe an innkeeper to share that someone suspicious was brought to the inn under cover of darkness several days after the attack. The man had all his meals sent up to his room and hadn’t left the premises since his arrival.”

“Did ye find the man? Did ye speak to him?”

“Oh, aye,” said Roger, the corner of his mouth raised in amusement. “The man refused our requests for the pleasure of his company, but Fergus just so happened to find a spare key to the room lying about the place.”

Jamie gave a “ _Hmphmf_ ” of no little pride his accomplished pick-pocket of a son.

“We made our way into the man’s room shortly after,” said Fergus.

“Was it the bastard who attacked my son?”

William’s jaw clenched at Jamie’s firm paternal ownership. I didn’t think William was quite comfortable enough with the reality of his parentage yet to be spoken of as such. His reaction didn’t faze Jamie in the slightest.

“I am uncertain, Milord.”

“Then what happened?”

“The man...he bore significant resemblance…” Fergus stopped short, his words caught in his throat.

Roger stepped in and quietly said, “He bore an uncanny resemblance to Fergus. The dark hair and eyes. The French bones. Even the sound of his voice. Though, perhaps he was a little taller. A little more broad in the shoulders.”

My eyes were on Sophia who didn’t look like she was breathing.

“Is that so?” said Jamie. “And who was this man? What was his name?”

“He identified himself as Paul Rakoczy,” Fergus answered.

Sophia’s mouth dropped open, and she covered it with both hands.

“Rakoczy? I thought ye said he was French?” said Jamie.

“His surname aside, he was most certainly as French as me. Monsieur Rakoczy even claimed to be my kin, though he wouldn’t say just how so. He did say I was the son of le Comte St. Germain, and I was of noble birth and entitled to a grand inheritance. It was the same story given to us not long ago by Monsieur Beauchamp.”

“And what did ye tell him?”

“I told him the same as I said to Monsieur Beauchamp. That I have my family here, and whether or not there was truth to his claims, I’ve no interest in an inheritance that would only make me a pawn of the crowns. Though, I must say, the man’s resemblance to me made for a stronger case for the knowledge of my bloodlines than Monsieur Beauchamp’s words alone.”

“What did he say about William?”

“He declined all knowledge of an attack on your son.”

“Of course, he did.”

“Is this man intending to stay in Wilmington?” asked William. The tightening of his jaw had me worried William might leave straight away to confront this Monsieur Rakoczy.

“ _Oui_. He claims to have business in nearby towns in the coming months. He plans on residing at the inn. I’ve the feeling he will continue to pursue acquaintance with me and my potential inheritance.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Jamie moved from my side to fill our glasses once again.

With everyone else’s attention on Fergus, I was the only one looking at Sophia. There was a grey pallor about her face and her hands were shaking. Her visible distress had me trying my best not to jump to conclusions about her secrets and her intentions toward my family.

I took the whisky from Jamie and drank it quickly. As the fire ran down my throat, I stepped in front of the girl and asked, “Is this man the same Paul you told us about? The one you fell in love with? The one who looks like Fergus?”

Her head snapped up, and she sucked in a rattling breath. “I think it must be. There couldn’t be many Frenchmen of the name Paul Rakoczy wandering around looking so much like the monsieur,” she gestured to Fergus.

“It can’t be a coincidence that both you and Mr. Rakoczy have come to the Ridge at the same time.”

“Rakoczy...Rakoczy…” Jamie was mumbling under his breath, as though trying to find some significant detail lost in the great depths of his memory. “Where do I ken the name?”

“Sophia. What aren’t you telling us?” I demanded.

She flinched at my tone. I’m not sure if it was sympathy for the girl, or to loosen her inhibitions, but Fergus lifted her glass in offering.

She waved it away and said offhand, “I can’t, I’m pregnant.”

“Why should that matter?” scoffed Fergus. I looked to Brianna and rolled my eyes. Most people in the 18th century thought plying pregnant women with alcohol a harmless gesture.

“Getting my baby drunk sounds like a terrible idea. By the smell of it alone, I can’t imagine it would be fit for a grown man’s consumption, much less a fragile little thing still growing its brain and bones. Besides, I need to think clearly, and that certainly won’t help.”

“What is it ye need to think about, lass?” said Jamie. “Tell us about Rakoczy.”

Sophia looked around the room, all eyes staring accusingly at her. She cringed when her gaze reached Jamie and hesitated briefly before settling on me. She spoke directly to me, though I was uncertain if that was because she thought me her most likely ally, or because she felt like she owed an explanation to me in particular.

“Paul was an...associate...of my grandfather. My grandfather had been away for years. He would leave from time to time while I was growing up. He’d disappear while he sent me away to be schooled, then he’d show up months or years later and stay for some time. When he came back the last time...he arrived with Paul.

“I was quite taken with Paul. He’s very intelligent, very charming...his every movement elegant and strong. I fell in love with him almost instantly.” Her hand dropped to her womb. “He made the most beautiful promises of a future together…” A tear fell from her eye, and she breathed a shaky breath before continuing on. “After my grandfather died...Paul left. He never had any intention of making a life with me or following through with his promises.”

A sad story, to be sure, but it didn’t explain much of anything. “Do you have any idea why Paul would hurt William?”

Her eyes darted to William, then returned directly to me. “I can only guess.” She took a deep breath and reached for the whisky. She made like she was going to take a sip, but stopped herself and set it on the table.

“It’s fine to have a sparing drink,” I told her.

She shook her head and said, “No. It’s not good for the baby at any stage of development.” She placed her fingertips on her temples, started a slow massage, and closed her eyes. I realized she must have a tension headache from the stress and from all the crying we did only moments before. And those bastard pregnancy hormones probably weren’t helping.

“Paul knew of my family’s association with the Lord and Lady Broch Tuarach. He said he knew you in Paris. He claimed you sabotaged his business, you tried to kill him, and you…you stole his son.”

“What?!” I said. I looked to Jamie, “We never did any such thing.”

“Stole his son in Paris?” said Fergus. “Impossible. The only child they took from Paris was me, and I was an orphan who went willingly. They did none of this.”

Jamie cleared his throat in a most severe way, quieting the room around him. His eyes narrowed with intensity as he asked, “What was the name of the child he claims we took?”

“He said he never had the chance to claim the child as his own, so he was born without a surname. But...the child was called ‘Claudel’.”

Fergus was shaking his head. “ _Ce n'est pas possible_. The man I met at the inn in Wilmington was younger than me. He could more likely be _my_ child.”

Sophia rubbed the bridge of her nose, then, she put pressure on the soft spots under her eyes just over her cheekbones. Acupressure points. “My grandfather told Paul he was mistaken, but Paul wouldn’t listen.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “We were in Paris thirty-five years ago.”

Ian’s wife, Rachel, spoke with her practical, calm authority, “This is all very confusing. Let us put all the facts together as we know them to properly think things through.”

“Where do we start?” asked Ian.

My brain felt so muddled, I didn’t know where to begin.

“Start in Paris, thirty-five years ago,” said Brianna with a knowing look in her eyes. “Who would think that you sabotaged his business, tried to kill him, and stole his son named Claudel?”

Jamie and I looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Le Comte St. Germain.”

“Why would he think you did all those things?” asked Sophia.

I explained about the Comte’s ship that was burned because I identified a crewman died of smallpox. I told them about the Comte’s attempts on my life, and how Master Raymond poisoned him in the King’s chamber during their witch trial. Finally, we told them about how we came to adopt Fergus, the little pick-pocket from the brothel who was once called Claudel.

“That sounds like Paul,” said Sophia. She looked green and breathless.

“The Comte St. Germain cannot be the man I met in Wilmington,” said Fergus. “This man was younger than me, with certainty. Unless the Comte survived Maître Raymond’s poison and he learned to make himself younger, it cannot be him.”

Jamie looked to me. “Ye watched him die, Sassenach, did ye no? Ye’re certain he was dead?”

I nodded. “The king’s executioner confirmed it.”

“I’m more confused than when we started,” said Ian.

“Aye,” said Jamie.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Sophia,” I said. Her eyes were closed and she was swaying, but I pressed on, “How did you and your Paul come to the Ridge at the same time if you didn’t travel together?”

“I...told him…” Sweat was beading on her brow, and I could see her lungs pulling tight on her corset. “I told him of my grandfather’s advice to me...that I should find you should he perish. It’s my fault he knew where to find you...”

“But why did you both come now?” There must be a greater connection! “Tell me, damn it. My family is at risk.”

Her eyes were closed, and she was swaying where she stood.

“Hold on, Sassenach,” said Jamie, stepping toward the girl.

“There’s more she isn’t saying. You can see it as well as I can.”

“Ye alright, lassie?” asked Jamie. “Are ye takin’ ill again?”

Sophia started tipping over, seemingly, in slow motion. Jamie caught her easily in his arms.

Jamie lifted her in his arms and turned to me. “’Tis alright, Sassenach. The lass isna going anywhere in this condition. We can finish this conversation later.”

I followed Jamie and the woman in his arms into the surgery, doing my best to shed my resentment along the way. He laid her on the table for my examination.

“She’ll be alright, then?” he asked when I was done.

“So far as I can see. She’s probably just dehydrated and anxious.”

“That’s not sae bad. I’ll bring her up to her bed where she can better rest, shall I?”

I nodded my consent. Before he lifted her again, the strangest expression crossed his face. His mouth curved in a gentle smile, and his eyes sparkled with what I could only describe as hope. He ran his thumb across the girl’s cheekbone, then down the line of her jaw.

I was too shocked to speak…

Jamie noticed me watching. He gave and grunt and shrugged off his strange behavior before picking up the girl once again and taking her up to her room.

* * *

Sophia woke only to eat and rehydrate. At Jamie’s encouragement, I agreed to leave further questioning about her involvement with the man who likely attacked William for another day.

Jamie’s behavior was no less bizarre after he came downstairs. A softness took over his whole body in a way I’d never seen before. The lightness remained with him throughout the day, so contrary to his countenance from even only hours earlier.

While finishing my evening ablutions, I noticed he spent more time than usual on his evening prayers, saying the Hail Mary over and over in both Latin and French.

Exhausted and confused from the long day, I was overcome with drowsiness as soon as I lay in bed. Jamie joined me, propping himself up on his elbow to watch me fall asleep.

“What are you doing?” I asked, peeking out from under an eyelid.

“ _Och_ , nothing, Sassenach. I just like the look of yer face.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Hush now, _mo nighean donn_. Let sleep come take ye.” He caressed my cheek and traced the lines of my face. He mumbled in Gaelic under his breath as I drifted off…

I was too tired to figure out what he was saying.

I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming when he whispered, “Do ye no see it, Claire? I suppose no. Ye’re always looking the other way.”


	5. As Time Goes By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thoroughly enjoying your comments. Thank you for reading and for sharing them with me.

Sleep should have come easy; I was tired enough, but it had nothing to do with my exhaustion.

Jamie was restless all night. His large body shifted in bed, flipping from back to front, waking me with every heavy movement, keeping me in a constant state of semi-consciousness. Sometimes he’d curl me into his arms and hold me tight, then he’d get out of bed and pace around the house.

In the dark, early hours before sunrise, I was able to stir from my groggy, near dissociative, sleep-deprived state in order to open my eyes to look at my husband. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“What is it, Jamie?” I said, my voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry to wake ye, Sassenach. I’ve much on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No' just yet.” He had the decency to look a little ashamed at keeping something from me.

It wasn’t fair that he could read my face like his old, battered copy of Don Quixote, but I never had a clue what he was thinking unless he intended for me to know. It obviously had something to do with the whole William, Sophia, and Fergus debacle, but that’s about all I could figure out. I could try to push him to tell me, as though pushing a Fraser to do something they weren’t ready for was a remote possibility...or I could try to find a way for both of us to get some sleep.

“So, are you just going to keep squirming around over there like Jemmy at one of his father’s sermons, or do you want to do something with that abundance of energy?”

“ _Och_ ,” he said. “I shouldna mean to bother ye wi’ that when ye’re sae tired.”

I allowed my glass face to communicate that he was much more of a bother behaving like a pancake flipping back and forth in bed than if he used that energy more constructively. He chuckled as he caught my meaning.

“I should find something better to do with my time than be harassing ye, Sassenach, but being honest, I dinna want to part from ye.”

“Well then,” I touched his chest, “come here.”

We stripped off our sleeping clothes, and he rolled on top of me. He wasted no time pushing inside. I wondered how long he’d been so ready. I expected him to move his hips right away and get to making love, but he had other plans.

He held my face in his hands and watched me with a surprising pained intensity. My heart always palpitated wildly when he looked at me like that. “Ye mind, _mo chridhe_ , when I asked ye if it would ever stop? The wanting you?”

I caressed his face, feeling the gentle scrape of his beard on my fingers. “I remember.”

“It hasna stopped,” he whispered. “Never. Not once in our twenty years apart, nor anytime since. I’ll burn for ye, my Sassenach, until there is no bit of me left to catch fire.”

I hadn’t Jamie’s poetry of words. Mine always seemed so insufficient. I was left depending on Jamie’s intuition when reading my face to speak for what was in my heart and hope he’d understand.

“I love ye, too, Claire.”

He always understood.

It was then he started moving. Whatever was weighing on his mind made his attentions all the more tender and his focus all the more acute.

My legs were spread wide open, letting him come into me over and over. This position was as natural for us as breathing...as necessary as air. He was right that the wanting had never stopped. I wanted him as badly now as I did the day I chose him on the stones, as badly as all those nights he invaded my dreams while lying in Frank’s bed.

With our foreheads pressed together and his warm breath on my cheek, we were in our earthly heaven, however long it would last. “God, I love ye, Claire. I love ye,” he whispered against my lips through ragged breath and rhythmic motion. “I need ye. I want ye. I love ye.”

There was no greater thing in the world than falling apart in Jamie’s arms...except him falling apart right along with me.

“My God. My wife. My Claire. _Mo chridhe_ ,” he was squeezing me so tight, and laying his heavy weight on my body as though merging our very skin. What he felt, I felt. We were one...for this moment and for the rest of our lives.

* * *

Jamie was gone from bed when I woke...not surprising, seeing how late I slept in after such a restless night. My soreness and the effort of getting out of bed highlighted our vigorous early morning activity.

The house was full of its normal morning bustling as I made my way down to find something that might pass for coffee (a necessary priority in the morning, no matter the quality of the stimulant). With all the pleasant post-coital chemicals buzzing around my head, it was hard to truly regret the loss of twentieth century coffee as I usually did. Today, I drank the eighteenth century sludge without complaint.

I thought it a nice sign of how the day might progress that Jenny’s Scottish grunt of disapproval at my sleeping in wasn’t nearly as loud as expected. With coffee in hand, I began my search for the second task on my list of priorities...Sophia.

She was nowhere to be found in the house. I had a moment of panic that she might have left the Ridge altogether, but peering in her room I saw her possessions were still where she left them. There was a good vantage from the porch, so I went outside and looked for signs of life or a mop of dark, curly hair.

A spot of fiery, red hair drew my attention near the stables. It was Jamie, and he wasn’t alone. Sophia was wrapped tight in his arms. He was bent over her and kissing the top of her head. I could see the white of his enormous smile as he looked down at her and laughed.

The tightening in my chest was only a momentary pang of jealousy; I wasn’t fond of other women touching my husband, and less so of my husband touching them...especially with his lips! However, I still had the sound of Jamie’s “I love ye” in my ear and the soreness of our lovemaking in my legs, and I knew better than to jump to ridiculous conclusions. I was, however, getting acutely impatient with the secrets being kept from me in my own house...and my stables!

What was my house guest keeping from me? And my husband, for that matter!

I turned back inside to my surgery, unsuccessfully attempting to quiet my footsteps so it wouldn’t appear I was throwing a tantrum. My pleasant morning mood was officially gone and replaced a heated agitation. It was what I liked to think of as a good mortar and pestle mood. I grabbed all the herbs and plants I could find, threw them in, and thought about that goddamn embrace as I ground them to pieces.

* * *

Jamie and his cuddly friend didn’t come up to the house all day. I noticed he was installing the windows Fergus brought back from Wilmington on Bree’s house. I purposefully stayed away, wanting Jamie to come by his own conscious and beg my forgiveness for that inappropriate public display of affection to another woman only a stone's throw away from my house.

But he didn’t.

In fact, no one came near me all day. Perhaps I was radiating waves of hostility that kept everyone at bay. I didn’t even have a patient to help distract me from my thoughts.

Only one person was impervious to my unspoken ire. She came to find me in my surgery as the day was coming to a close.

“Grannie,” said Mandy, “Mama’s making pizza in our new oven! She needs your herbs.”

“Pizza?”

“We’re having a party!”

“Whatever for?”

“Our house is ready.”

I ignored the sinking in my heart—and the relief—that my daughter and grandchildren would no longer be living in my house. I put on a smiling face and said, “A house warming, then? That sounds like a lovely idea.”

I gathered some basil, oregano, and thyme, and picked up a few extra things from the kitchen that might be of use before heading down to Bree and Roger’s. The house was big and beautiful—of course it was, Jamie built it—and a small crowd of mostly family and a few tenants were milling about the front patio.

Jamie was easy enough to find being that he was probably the tallest man residing in North Carolina, and the sun shining on his red hair made it look as though he was a flaming beacon of war. He was drinking ale and laughing with Bobby Higgins as I approached. A lovely, easy smile graced his face when he noticed me. It was such a beautiful expression to elicit from one’s husband that it nearly drove my irritation clear out of my head. Nearly.

My heart was racing with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, and it took me a moment to remember it wasn’t just because of that knee-weakening smile...it was due to the prospect of seeing Sophia in Bree’s house. I was so drawn to the girl, yet so frustrated with the intentional ignorance she and Jamie were imposing on me!

Jamie’s face darkened as he read my changing expression. I needed to have words with him, but I wouldn’t do so in front of so many people. I turned in a huff and pushed through the door into my daughter’s new home.

“Oh, good, Mama. You’re here,” said Bree as I walked into the kitchen. I barely had a chance to wave hello to Jenny who was standing over the cauldron stirring the tomato sauce before Brianna grabbed my basket of herbs out of my hands and set it aside. She nodded to another occupant of the room with a look of concern on her face. “She needs your help.”

“I’m fine, really,” said Sophia. She was holding up a small mirror of Brianna’s and poking a finger into her eye. “I just got something in my eye. It’s fine now.”

I gritted my teeth and shoved my irritation aside. It wouldn’t do to examine something as fragile as an eyeball whist feeling impulses to stab and maim. I gathered myself well enough and said, “Let me have a quick look.”

She blinked her eyes repeatedly and looked away...almost as though she was avoiding me. “It’s fine, Claire. Really.”

I waved off her protestations and lifted her chin. “Look out the west window, darling. It will give us the most light.”

It took her a moment to gear herself up to comply. My automatic assumption was to wonder if it was because of whatever was going on with Jamie that she was suddenly uncomfortable with my scrutiny. Then, I wondered if it was about Paul Rakoczy and William.

But it wasn’t until she opened her eyes to the fading sunlight that I realized the reason for her reluctance…

There _was_ something in her eye...no...both her eyes. Through the shock of her red sclera and green irises, the light glinted off something completely transparent covering a good portion of the eyeball. It was almost like there was an additional lens covering the iris.

Was it a growth? No...too smooth and round to be natural...a glass lens?

That couldn’t be. Glass lenses placed directly on the eye were a rare thing in the 1960s, much less the 18th century. And they were so incredibly bothersome that they were almost never used.

Sophia looked away. “I feel better already. Thank you, Claire.”

I watched the girl busy herself with the basket of herbs I brought along with me. Her hands were shaking and she intentionally avoided my gaze.

What the bloody hell was going on?! Could this young woman possibly be from another time? Why wouldn’t Jamie tell me?

Even if she was from another time, why wouldn’t she just use spectacles rather than risk damage to her eyes?

Brianna and Jenny were looking between Sophia and me. I reeled myself in, supposing now wasn’t the time for the discussion I had planned. I stifled my frustration once more and plastered a smile on my face before going to help with the herbs.

The pizza turned out surprisingly well, and it was not, fortunately, imbued with any of the bitterness of my feelings as I chopped the basil. I was able to keep my hostility out of most of my interactions well into the evening, so long as I kept my distance from my secretive husband and our increasingly irksome and mysterious house guest.

That lasted until Jamie decided he was finished with allowing me space.

As the sky darkened overhead revealing our majestic Milky Way, Roger played his guitar and sang by a large outdoor fire. Since his injury, his voice was rougher than before, but it had healed quite miraculously with the aid of Geillis Duncan’s friend when Roger traveled further back in time.

Jamie came to sit next to me on a bench near the fire. I didn’t try to hide my irritation at the man. I made to move away, but he wrapped an arm around my waist and held me tight against him so I couldn’t get up without causing a scene. I resisted for a moment on principle, then gave up and sat back in my seat.

Jamie nuzzled his face in my hair and whispered, “Ye’re avoiding me, Sassenach. Why?”

Bastard. My eyes flickered over to Sophia sitting not too far away. He didn’t need me to say a word.

His eyebrow raised, “Ye’re angry at the lassie? What does that have to do wi’ me?”

I raised an eyebrow back at him then to the stables. The sheepish look on his face and the flush of red on his ears told me he knew exactly why I was angry.

“Ye saw me wi’ her this morning, did ye? _Och_ , well, ye know right well my soul is yours, so ye canna possibly be jealous. What is it, then?”

I contained my rage as best I could and said with clenched teeth, “After everything I went through with Laoghaire and Malva Christie, you wonder why I’m angry at seeing you hugging and kissing a young woman out where everyone can see?”

“ _Och_ , now. There’s nothin’ romantic about giving the lass a kiss on the heid.”

“I know that. Does she? Does everyone else? I can’t deal with another of your jealous suitors, nor could I deal with more rumors about you with _another_ pregnant girl on the Ridge!” I spat out in as quiet of a whisper as I could manage.

He barked a laugh at that. “Trust me, Sassenach. The lass hasna interest in me as far as romantic affairs go and will certainly no accuse me of taking her honor and leaving her wi’ child.”

“How can you know that?”

“She’s a good ’un, aye? Ye’re right, _mo nighean donn_ , she’s got her secrets, but I ken she wants to share them wi’ ye.” He looked to Sophia, then back to me, “Though, she’d be more likely to do so if ye werena eyein’ her as though about to render a capital sentence for her to hang.”

I gave him a dismissive Scottish grunt, though I was sure there was truth to his words. “She told you everything, then?”

His mouth twitched a few times, then, gave way to a full, white-toothed smile as though he couldn’t contain it. “No' everything. But, I, uh, made some guesses and wasna far off the mark.” He grinned at me with so much joy, it took the wind from my agitated sails.

“You liked what she told you, then?”

He sighed deep and dropped his forehead to mine, “Aye, Sassenach. I’m verra pleased.”

“And you won’t tell me?”

“’Tis not my story to tell. She’ll share wi’ ye when she’s ready. Just...have Faith, Claire. If no' in the lassie, then in me.”

I crossed my arms in front of me and pouted. “When I last tried to keep a secret from you, you told me that our acceptance of each other’s secrets was fine when all we had for each other was respect and friendship, but secrets were _not_ ok now that we’d built a life together on so much more.”

He nodded solemnly. “Aye, I said so, didn’t I? And I meant it. But, remember, there was one secret ye kept from me that I havena begrudged ye?”

I remembered which secret he was talking about. I’d kept Brianna's secret about Stephan Bonnet from him to terrible consequences. Our child was the only person who he’d allow between us—temporarily. “This is different,” I said.

Jamie’s face held a strange combination of emotions that was harder to read than his usual mask of inscrutability. “ _Mo chridhe…_ ”

We were interrupted by a round of applause for Roger’s latest song. “Any other requests?” he asked the group.

“Where’d ye learn such songs, MacKenzie?” asked one of our tenants. Roger had just finished something I’d never heard before that he must have picked up in the 1970s.

“ _Och_ , from traveling here and there.” If Roger was being honest, he would’ve said, “From traveling now and then.”

“The beauty of music,” said Roger, “is that it doesna matter where or when ye’re from. A good song transcends space and time.”

“I ken that,” said Ian. “Music is verra spiritual for the Mohawk. Songs are created with great care to tell a story or to aid a man or spirit.”

“Like the death song?” asked Rachel.

“Aye,” said Ian.

“Where I come from,” said Brianna, “Songs are made about everyone and everything. There’s a song for every mood, every person, and every thing.”

“Do you have a song, cousin?” Ian asked Brianna.

“Oh, aye, she does,” smirked Roger. He strummed his guitar and started singing, “The only one who could ever reach me, Was the son of a preacher man. The only boy who could ever teach me, Was the son of a preacher man.”

He was cut short by Brianna throwing a hard crust of pizza at him, to the pleasure of the watching crowd.

“And do ye have a song, Roger Mac?” asked Jamie.

“Indeed I do…” Roger rubbing his forehead where the pizza crust struck. He looked to Brianna and grinned like a fool in love before strumming his guitar. “Love Hurts! Love Scars. Love wounds and marks.”

Laughter erupted all around, and I couldn’t help my own smile. The lightness of the party and Jamie’s reassurances were going a long way to ease my irritability and uncertainty.

As Brianna looked for more ammunition to throw at Roger, he pleaded, “I’m joking! I’m joking!” with his hands up in surrender.

“Do Uncle Jamie!” said Ian.

Jamie’s loud grunt had us all laughing again. Roger, however, was up to the task. He strummed his guitar and started singing a quite lovely rendition of the song, “My Way.”

Even though Jamie had no ear for music, he listened intently to the words. He made a variety of Scottish sounds along the way. There were grunts of dissent when Roger got to the part of, “And there were times, I’m sure you knew, When I bit off more than I could chew.” And ‘ _hmphms_ ’ of approval when he sang, “For what is a man, What has he got? If not himself, Then he has naught, To say the things he truly feels, And not the words of one who kneels.”

Overall, I thought it a particularly delicious song choice for my stubborn Fraser husband. Jamie even joined in the applause when the song was finished.

“That was verra fine,” he admitted and grinned mischievously at me. “Now do one for Claire.”

“Oh, God no,” I protested.

“Come on, Sassenach. He’ll pick a good ’un for ye.”

“Any suggestions, Claire?” asked Roger, picking across his strings.

“How about ‘You say Potato, and I say Po-Tatties’.” Brianna and Roger were highly amused, though none of our non-time traveling companions appreciated my wit.

“How about this?” said Roger. He started playing and sang, ‘Gonna take a sentimental journey. Gonna set my heart at ease. Gonna make a sentimental journey, To renew old memories’.”

“Oh,” said Jamie, smiling at me. “Those words are lovely...ring true, do they no'?”

I nodded in agreement, but I had already made my sentimental journey. I had another song in mind. With my eyes still on Jamie, I told Roger “Play, ‘As Time Goes By’.”

Roger chose a nice, slow pace for the song, and the raspiness of his new voice did the song it’s due justice.

“You must remember this,  
A kiss is just a kiss,  
A sigh is just a sigh.  
The fundamental things apply,  
As Time goes by...”

Jamie watched me with a smile in his eyes as Roger sang.

“And when two lovers woo,  
They still say ‘I love you,’  
On that you can rely.  
No matter what the future brings,  
As Time goes by...”

I pulled Jamie up to standing, took his hand in mine, and placed his other around my waist. Though he had no ear for pitch and tone, he was more than capable of hearing rhythm. So, as I swayed back and forth to the music, he caught on quickly.

“This is how couples dance in the twentieth century,” I said, resting my head on his chest.

His eyes glittered playfully as he said, “A wee bit bawdy, is it no?”

I shrugged any concern for my reputation away. Half the Ridge already thought me a witch.

At the words, “Woman needs man, and man must have his mate…” Jamie made a deep, rumbling sound of appreciation. I was appreciating the effect they had on him below.

“It's still the same old story,  
A fight for love and glory.  
A case of do or die.  
The world will always welcome lovers,  
As Time goes by...”

As the song came to an end, there was a polite applause and few suggestive whistles from onlookers.

Roger moved on and started playing requests from Brianna, who was done throwing food at him. Jamie sat us back on our bench where, this time, I made sure I was tucked comfortably in the crook of his arm, all hostility forgotten. He held my hand in his, stroking my palm as he listened to Roger play. His eyes were dancing with that light, happy smile again.

“What on earth is going on with you, Jamie?” I pleaded.

“There are few times in a man’s life when he has all he could ever dream of having. How many years did I sit in despair? How many years did I mourn ye, my Sassenach...and Brianna, and Faith, and Willie?”

He looked at his family sitting around the fire. “Now I have more than any man deserves. Despite lingering threats, I canna help but delight in the gifts bestowed me by God...and by you, Claire.”

“Oh, Jamie.” I grabbed his face and kissed him with no little delicacy. To hell with onlookers. “Perhaps that’s one thing that makes us so well suited for each other...Our dreams are one in the same.”

He smiled and bent to kiss me again. His tongue gently split my lips in a teasing promise for what would come when we left our company behind for the evening. 

With his lips still on mine, his body went surprisingly and suddenly rigid. He pulled away, and his eyes were no longer on me.

“What is it?” I followed his gaze up the hill to our house. A small, flickering light lit up a window on the second floor. After what happened to our last house, no one ever left any fires burning without supervision. “Someone’s in the house?”

“Someone’s in our room, Sassenach.” He was right. The farthest window to the right was our bedroom. The largest room on the second floor.

“Perhaps one of the grandchildren want to sleep with us tonight?”

“Perhaps,” he said. He didn’t sound like he thought it a remote possibility. Knowing Jamie, he probably knew the exact location of every one of our children and grandchildren at that moment. “’Tis probably nothing, Sassenach, but I’ll see who’s decided to wander ’round our room in our absence. Stay here wi’ the bairns, aye?”

Jamie kept an eye on the house as he went to Ian. He whispered quietly to his nephew, and Ian nodded and peered around the campfire. Jamie must have told him to keep an eye on all of us while he was gone.

I watched Jamie take an indirect route up the hill so he wouldn’t be visible to someone watching the crowd below. My observations, however, were interrupted by someone taking Jamie’s place on the bench next to me.

“Hello, Sophia,” I said. Jamie’s reassurances fresh in my mind, I was feeling much more charitable to the young woman than only an hour before. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She looked at me with utter sincerity and said, “Very much, Claire. Your family has been so warm...so welcoming.”

“Well,” I smiled, “that’s what happens when you save the son of the Laird on your way here.”

“You’re being kinder to me than I deserve. I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you about who I am and where I come from.” She looked away from my face and toward the fire. This time, it didn’t seem as though she was looking away in shame or avoidance, but rather to gather her thoughts.

I could see the lenses in her eyes quite clearly in the flickering firelight.

“Is that so?”

She watched the fire and sat quietly. She was obviously struggling with how to share her truth. I had compassion for her struggle, having been a secret-keeper myself for so long (I looked to Jenny who was still a little bitter with me for doing so), but being that I was the one she was withholding information from, my compassion for Jenny was also increasing.

Just when I decided to help her out and ask her about the lenses, she spoke. “You know what song I’d chose for Roger to play for me?”

That was the last question I expected her to ask me. “Which one?”

Her eyes turned to me as she spoke. “Coming here to this place,” she said quietly, hesitantly, “with all of you...it’s like a dream. Like I’ve been swept away to another world. Another reality.”

I knew the feeling.

When she opened her mouth next, it was in a soft, quiet song…“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby...”

I did my best not to drop my mouth in shock. I had my suspicions about where she’d come from, so it wasn’t as surprising as it could have been. But the reality of her being a time traveler was more challenging to digest than my suspicions alone.

“When?” I asked. It was a question only someone like me would know how to answer.

“Two-thousand and twenty.”

I made some sort of breathless noise. Nearly forty more years than where I would end up if I ever traveled back through the stones.

“That’s why Paul and I were here around the same time. We had to wait for Beltane. I swear, Claire, I did not come with him. I didn’t even know he was coming. And I certainly didn’t know he meant your family harm.”

“Dear God. Why? Why did you come, then?”

Tears started falling down her cheeks. “I had to come now, or I’d never have a chance ever again...the baby, you see. I won’t travel with the baby after it comes. Maître Raymond told me how horrible it was to cross through the stones...how dangerous. I had to come here and return home before my baby is born.”

“Why? Why was it so important for you to come?”

She fruitlessly wiped her tears away, and more and more fell down her face. “For you, Claire. And for Jamie.”

I pulled out my handkerchief and helped her dry her eyes. “For me and Jamie? Why? Did Master Raymond send you?”

More tears fell as she tried to find a way to share this significant piece of information.

“Sophia?”

She grabbed my hand and held it tight. “Oh, Claire...my name isn’t Sophia. I only said so because Paul told me how terrible you were...both of you. I hadn’t planned on telling you the truth if all the horrible things he accused you of were true. But they’re not true, are they? You’re wonderful people. You’re exactly who Maître Raymond said you were.”

As I held this young woman’s hand in mine, I took in her bouncing, dark-brown curls surrounding her face. I saw splotches of red petechiae dotting her pale brow from the intensity of her crying...it happened to my own translucent skin when I cried, too.

She reminded me so much of myself when I was younger…

A too large bubble of hope started filling my chest.

No, I argued. Don’t get your hopes up. It can’t be her. You held her lifeless body in your arms yourself! Her hair was red, like her father, like her sister.

But I couldn’t help that piece of me that wanted it so badly...

“Sassenach!” Jamie was running downhill with his pistols on his belt and rifles in his hands.

“Oh dear God, What’s happened?” I stood to meet him.

He stopped and handed me a pistol. “Someone’s been rifling through the house. Everything is turned upside down.”

“Are they gone?”

“Aye, but no' far.”

The party had abruptly stopped at Jamie’s arrival. He distributed weapons around and escorted us all back up to the house. He and Ian combed through the place before we all went back in. Ian grumbled something about wishing Rollo was there on his way out the door.

Jamie and Ian left to go track down the intruder, leaving me, Willie, Roger, Bobby, and Brianna to stand guard. The house was a disaster. The intruder upended nearly all our possessions. My surgery was a complete mess.

“What could he possibly want?” asked Sophia, surveying the damage with horror. “Why would he do this?”

A thought clicked in my head. I raced upstairs to my bedroom and froze in shock as I surveyed the damage. Everything was turned over, ripped, broken, and battered. The destruction of our large feather mattress had the room looking as though it just endured a snow storm. Yes, he was looking for something…

I threw open the cupboard door and reached back to open the false wall...but it was already open. And it was empty.

He’d taken the gold.


	6. The Devil Ye Ken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may have noticed, much of the plot from this book (specifically this chapter) is derived from DG's "The Space Between." I have some notes at the end to fill you in.

“Ye ken, starin’ out that window willna make him come home any faster,” said Jenny.

She was right, of course, but I couldn’t help myself. I looked down the hill, hoping to see Jamie and Ian walking back, shoulders relaxed in the comfort of a threat eradicated.

There was nothing but darkness.

The children were upstairs asleep with their parents watching over them and William was in bed resting his leg. Jenny, Sophia, and I were the only ones without young children, so we were waiting up for Jamie and Ian.

A small, furry body rubbed against my ankles and let out a loud purr. I lifted my cat and held him against my chest. “He’ll be fine,” I told Adso, scratching behind his ears. I knew I was trying to reassure myself more than the cat. 

“Here,” said Sophia. She’d poured Adso a bowl of cream and set it on the ground. He abandoned me at the sight of such a treat, jumping down to lap it up.

I went back to looking out the kitchen window.

“You’re very protective over him,” said Sophia. I assumed she meant Jamie and not Adso.

“I’m his wife. Are things so different where you’re from?” I said, turning to her. I hadn’t even had a chance to wonder what the world was like in the twenty-first century.

“Perhaps for some people. I’ve no personal frame of reference outside of books and stories. I’ve lost everyone I've ever loved.”

“Everyone?”

“It wasn’t an exhaustive list to begin with,” her quiet laugh sounded so sad. “When you lose people so early in life, it’s not an easy feat to open your heart to someone new.”

Sophia looked sheepishly down at her feet.

“Ye ken, it's a funny thing,” said Jenny, “thousands more people live in Paris than Fraser lands, but one can be more lonely there than a solitary soul in the Highlands.

Sophia looked to Jenny and smiled softly. “You’re too right.”

My earlier suspicions of Sophia’s lineage were still fresh in my mind, so when my eyes moved back and forth between her and Jenny, I thought I caught glimpses of similarities in appearance. In the dark room, Sophia's hair was pitch black, much like Jenny’s before it started turning grey. In the sunlight, Sophia’s color was closer to my brown...generally it was probably somewhere between the two. I could see Jenny in some of Sophia’s fine bones, and the shape of her catlike eyes...the shape of Jamie’s eyes...of Brian’s eyes, so I was told. In Sophia’s, the shape wasn’t so pronounced. They were a little rounder, as though my genetics took Jamie’s and ironed out some of the sharp lines.

Was it some inner wish-fulfillment creating these similarities? A confirmation bias desperately seeking evidence for what I wanted to believe?

No. Jamie was behaving far too strange for this all to be in my head. He saw something, too. He _knew_ something. Could this young woman really be related to us? If not my lost child, then perhaps a descendant of Brianna’s?

“You have so much here,” her voice was a whisper as her eyes met mine. “How do you cope with the fear of losing everything you love?”

“Why do you think I became a doctor? I lost everyone I loved in my youth, too, remember? I’ve done all in my power to make this a safer place for my family.”

Sophia nodded in understanding.

“How about you? Why did you become a healer?” I asked.

Her smile at that was genuine. “It’s in my blood.”

I decided I was done with secrets and half stories. It was time I knew everything.

“Come with me, darling.” I took a candelabra and led her out of the kitchen and down the hall to my surgery. The dark house was filled with shadows from flickering candlelight. My surgery was a complete mess from our intruder’s disruption. Herbs were all over the floor, pots broken and upended. Worse yet, the diligent notes I’d taken on patients and procedures were scattered all over the place as though he rifled through each individual page. It would take me ages to make sense of it.

I set the candelabra on the table and turned to the more pressing enigma before me. “You were about to tell me who you were before Jamie came down the hill. We’re going to finish that conversation now.”

There we stood, face-to-face, surrounded by two masses of dark, curly hair, trying to escape their pins. Tears were forming in her eyes as she looked at me with hope and affection, and above all…

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” I said.

“Terrified.”

“Of what?”

“I’m not really sure,” she laughed.

I touched her cheek and wiped a tear falling from her eye. “You don’t think I’d ever hurt you, do you?”

She shook her head. “No...but...what if I get everything I’ve ever wanted...then I lose it all yet again?”

“What are you afraid of losing?”

“You.”

“Why would you lose me?”

She looked down at her hand on her stomach. “This isn’t a world to raise a child...if it can be helped. I have to go back, and you won’t be there. No one will be there. It’s easier to be alone when you don’t know what you’re missing.”

I held her face in my own trembling hands and said, “Tell me...Tell me your mine.”

She nodded in acquiescence, if not in confirmation. She took a step back and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a little white, plastic container—if I needed confirmation she was truly from the future, that was it right there—popped open two tiny lids, and set it on the table. They were filled with some sort of watery substance. Then, she turned to the side, spread open her eyelids with one hand, and used a finger to remove that little lens.

There was something dark on the lens, hard to see in the flickering light. I reached for her hand and brought it close. She was balancing the tiny little lens on the tip of her finger. I pinched the lens between my thumb and forefinger, wanting a better look. It was shockingly soft and flexible. “That’s not glass.”

“Contact lenses are made of silicone in my time.” She removed the lens from the other eye and placed it in it’s container. “And they aren’t just used to correct vision. They can be worn for aesthetics...or concealment.”

Held up to the light of a candle, it was easier to see that the darkness on the lens was a green circle...a false iris...she used them to change the color of her eyes!

I looked at her expecting to see Jamie’s dark blues staring back at me. I never expected to see my own in the shape of my husband’s. The lens dropped from my hand to the floor.

“You look like Jenny...and me…” This surprised me most of all. “None of my children look like me. They favor Ellen and the MacKenzies. They favor Jamie. But you’re a Fraser and a Beauchamp through and through.”

I wiped more tears from her cheeks, and to my surprise, she wiped some from mine.

“You look too much like us to be some distant descendant.”

“I’m not a...distant...relation, Claire. My name is Faith Elizabeth Fraser. I was born May 12, 1744 in a hospital in Paris, where my father was incarcerated for dueling, and my mother nearly died in childbirth. A nun gave me the name Faith, Master Raymond gave me my mother’s middle name, and I took my father’s surname.”

I saw the truth in her eyes...in my eyes reflected back at me!

“Faith? My Faith?”

She nodded.

“And Jamie knows?”

She nodded again, smiling through her tears.

I pulled her toward me and embraced her with all the longing of three and a half lost decades. Her wild hair was tickling my face as I breathed her in. I laughed at the realization of what Jamie must’ve felt every time he’d held me since the day we met.

I pulled back only far enough to look in her honey eyes again. “How? How is this possible? I held you in my arms...you had red hair...and you were...still...and cold...and gone...”

“It wasn’t me you held,” she said. “Maître Raymond knew…”

Footsteps sounded across the hall in Jamie’s study. “Jamie?” I smiled at Faith wanting desperately to hold her in my arms with Jamie embracing us both—an old fantasy from my pregnancy long since pushed aside.

“Jamie?” I called, releasing Faith and turning to the door. I walked to the study and peered at his form opening the window. “Jamie, what are you doing in the dark? Why didn’t you tell us you made it home?”

Faith had the sense to bring the candelabra with her. When the light reached the other side of the room, one thing was clear...it wasn’t Jamie.

My first thought was that it was Fergus standing there. He was tall with dark hair and dark eyes. His face and bones were those of French nobility. But quick inspection showed obvious differences; this was man a little taller, broader, with slightly less delicate features.

“Paul?” said Faith. “What are you doing here?”

Paul’s face fell at seeing my daughter. It was hard to read his expression...Surprise? Regret? Affection? “Faith…”

“Who are you, and why are you in my house?” I demanded.

As his eyes reluctantly left Faith and returned to me, he visibly inflated with haughty superiority, chest out, chin up, eyes narrowed and staring down his nose. “Lady Broch Tuarach.”

The face of the man before me was familiar, but it was his voice I really knew. I listened to that voice speak his last words thirty-five years ago...Louis had asked him if he was afraid. “No, Majesty,” he’d said before he hit the floor.

“St. Germain,” I said. Though it couldn’t be him. The Comte was dead. Unfortunately, I’d typically seen the Comte in his courtly wig and powder, so I couldn’t ascertain this man’s identity from his features alone. Perhaps he was a son of the Comte.

“You recognize me, La Dame Blanche?” He smirked as though pleased he made such an impression.

“It’s true, then? You are le Comte St. Germain?”

He gave a courtly nod of his head and bent his arm in a mock bow. I jumped at the sight of a weapon in his hand. It was a gun, but unlike one I’d ever seen before...certainly not a pistol from this time.

“How is it possible you’re here?”

He chuckled darkly, “Maître Raymond would not kill his own kin, Madame. The substance he gave me made me appear dead long enough to escape the castle.”

“And how did you get that?” I nodded to the gun. “You’re from the future?”

“No, Madame. I’m from the present time. When I first traveled, it was hundreds of years into the past, where I stayed to protect myself. It was only recently that Maître Raymond shared his secrets for traveling forward in time.”

“Why are you here?” I repeated my earlier question. “Revenge?”

He gave a devilish laugh. “As pleasurable as that would be, no, revenge was not my intention.”

The hand without the gun moved to a satchel he carried over his shoulder.

“Gold?” I asked. “You wanted gold?”

Again, he laughed. “Of course not, though I must say, it has its uses.”

“Then why did you tear apart our house?”

“The gold was not my primary purpose for coming, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t looking for it. I came to see if Maître Raymond passed his secrets of _Alchimie_ down to you.” He patted the satchel. “The gold was a clue that he might have done so.”

“ _Alchimie_?” I asked.

“Alchemy,” said Faith. “Maître Raymond studied Alchemy.”

“Turning one substance into another?” I said. “Matter into gold...an old man into a young man?”

The Comte gave another bow.

“But that’s not possible…” I looked at the Comte who was very much younger than when I’d last seen him, “Is it?”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “I traveled here after Maître Raymond met his...untimely?...end. I thought maybe he left his secrets with you.” He looked at my graying hair with disdain. “Clearly, you have no insights for long life, Lady Broch Tuarach.”

“So then, Master Raymond gave you some elixir, but did not share how to make it for yourself. Smart of him, I’d say. Well, it seems you’ve wasted your time coming here. That gold was not obtained through Alchemy, and I have no secrets for long life other than that of a surgeon.”

Clumsy footsteps sounded in the hall, “Mother Claire? Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine, William. Go back to your room. Faith, darling, why don’t you take him away?”

“I’m not leaving you here,” she said. “I know how he hates you.”

“Claire?” said William peering in the room with a pistol in his hand.

The Comte raised his gun at William. “Place your weapon on the floor, _Monsieur, s'il vous plaît._ ”

“Put it down, William,” said Faith. “There are more bullets in his gun than yours, he doesn’t have to reload them, and they do a lot more damage.”

“I see you survived our last encounter,” said the Comte. “I apologize for mistaking you for the Lord Broch Tuarach. I could not pass on an opportunity to rid myself of such a nuisance. You look so much like he did when I knew him.”

If the Comte had thought I was some sort of alchemist brewing an Elixir of Life, of course he would’ve thought William was Jamie kept young by my potions. William held his pistol tighter, pointing it straight at the Comte’s heart.

“I don’t have any of Master Raymond’s secrets, and you have all our gold. You should leave before Jamie gets here. You know what a dangerous man he is, and you don’t have the threat of King Louis’s Bastille to stop him from harming you.”

The Comte trained his gun on me. “Perhaps I should bring you with me? Your husband would not harm me if he thought you were at risk.”

“The last man who took me from my husband had his head detached from his spine,” I said through clenched teeth.

The Comte waved his gun. “He cannot get near me while I have this, Madame.”

Faith stepped forward, and I grabbed her arm to pull her back. She pulled away and stepped up to the Comte, setting the candelabra on Jamie’s desk. She spoke to him in French, “Why would you do this to me?”

His face softened ever so slightly at her words. “It’s not about you, _chérie_.”

“Is it not? The promises you made me...everything we shared. I was your fool...a tool.”

He didn’t deny it, but spared her a small flinch.

“A man like this doesn’t have it in him to love,” I told Faith. “It isn’t about you, my dear.”

Faith stepped closer to the Comte and spoke with her voice soft and wavering, “You said you loved me. I know you meant it.”

He dropped his voice and matched her quiet tone, “I’m truly sorry for your pain. But this woman…” he pointed the gun at me.

“My mother!” she interrupted.

“Yes, your mother! She stole my son from me! She had my ship burned! She tried to poison me!”

“You tried to kill her and had her attacked! You left your son in a brothel! You were not so innocent. And if you hated her so...why would you make love to me?”

His face was colored in pain and shame, “I did not expect to care for you, _mon amour._ ”

“How can you say you ever cared for me when you’re standing here threatening my mother?!”

“She took everything from me! My whole life! I was stuck rotting in the bowels of the 17th century! Maître Raymond would not share his secrets with me, and I thought he had shared them with her. I wanted to take back my life from her!”

“You fool! She’s just a doctor. She doesn’t even know her power! You came here for nothing! You broke my heart for nothing!”

“I am sorry, _chérie_. More than you know. And I was going to leave here with the gold, find some gems, and make my way back to the stones, but she found me. And now I need her to ensure my safe passage.”

“You’re not taking anyone anywhere,” said William, gun still in hand.

With Faith’s raised voice, footsteps were pounding their way downstairs. Bobby, Roger, and Fergus coming to protect their children.

“Come, Madame!” the Comte demanded.

“No!” yelled Faith, stepping in front of me. “I won’t let you take her from me.”

“Come here, darling,” I said. “He’ll shoot you to get to me.”

“No, he won’t.” She looked at the Comte. “Not while I carry his child.”

“ _Mon enfant_?” he said, shocked. “Faith? _Ma chérie_?”

From there, everything happened so fast…

His hand with the gun dropped a few inches. William, seeing his opportunity, fired his pistol, striking the Comte in the shoulder. The Comte fired his gun three times quickly, just as William pushed me aside. I hit the floor flat on my back, knocking my head so all I could see were stars.

“Stop him!” said William hobbling forward. “He went out the window!”

“Claire!” said Faith, dropping on her knees at my side.

“ _Mon Dieu_. I’ll get Rachel,” said Fergus.

Rachel? Perhaps he thought I needed help. “No, she should stay with the children.”

“Claire?” said Roger. “Oh, God, Claire. Brianna!”

“No,” I said, trying to bring my eyes into focus. “The Comte’s gone. Go stay with the children.”

“We need to get her to the surgery,” said Faith.

Why was no one listening to me?

“Mama!” Brianna’s face hovered over mine. “It’s going to be ok. You’re going to be just fine. Rachel can fix you up.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” I demanded. I tried sitting up, but found my body wouldn’t move. I looked down, and all I could see was red. Blood. “Oh, he shot me. Oh dear.”

Rachel wasn’t prepared to handle gunshot wounds...certainly not from a twenty-first century weapon.

Brianna and Faith were applying pressure to my wounds, but I couldn’t feel a thing. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Jamie,” I said. “Where’s Jamie?”

I felt nothing when Roger carried me to the surgery. I listened with almost clinical objectivity to the sounds around me.

“It’s a mess!” said Faith, looking around my destroyed surgery for supplies.

“Claire!” said Rachel, running to my side. “What do I need to do?”

Rachel was a lovely nurse, but I was losing the energy to think clearly about what should be done. I didn’t even know where I was shot.

“Wash your hands!” said Faith. “We need to get the bullets out and close the wounds. I can heal her from there.”

“Heal her from there?” said Brianna. “What does that mean?”

“Trust her,” said William. “Let her do what she can.”

My eyes flickered to William who was walking around on a leg that should still be broken, but somehow was supporting his substantial weight.

He really did look like his father…

“Jamie...tell Jamie I love him…”

“You can tell him yourself,” said Faith. “You’ll be just fine, Claire.”

That’s when I started losing consciousness...fading in and out…

In a moment of clarity, I watched my eldest daughter maneuvering a pair of forceps with the ease and skill of a trained physician as she spouted orders to Rachel, and I realized…“You’re a doctor!”

Her eyes smiled, but she didn’t lose focus. “As I told you, it’s in my blood.”

Brianna stood by me, holding my hand, watching her sister with fear etched in every line of her face. She didn’t know about Faith.

“Brianna…” I gasped, trying to squeeze her hand. Speaking was growing more difficult, “your sister…”

“Mama?” Tears started falling down her cheeks. “Are you seeing spirits? Can you see your baby?”

I tried to laugh, but it turned into a fit of coughing.

“Hold her still,” said Faith.

I faded out of consciousness again...

* * *

“Claire?!” Jamie’s panicked voice was far away. “Claire!”

“Jamie…” I tried to yell, but all that came out was a whisper.

“Da!” Brianna yelled.

Footsteps thundered into the surgery, and a sea of faces parted for my husband. “Claire?”

My head was cradled in his arms, and his face hovered inches from mine. Terror and heartache marred his beautiful blue eyes.

“I love you, Jamie.”

“Aye, _mo nighean donn_. And I love you.”

My body released a tension I didn’t realize it was carrying now that Jamie was there. He kissed me gently, then said, “Dinna leave me, Sassenach. Ye promised me ye’d never leave my side again.”

“Death is nothing between us, remember?”

“Aye,” he sniffed, “I recall.”

“We have Faith now.” I hoped my voice carried some of the joy the thought gave me.

A grin spread over Jamie’s face, “She told ye?” Jamie looked at my surgeon who was still focused on tending to my injuries, then looked back down at me. “She favors ye, Claire. It gives my heart more joy than I can bear to see ye in her.”

“And your father…”

“Aye, and my Da.”

I closed my eyes so comfortable in Jamie’s arms.

“Claire!”

I peered out of an eyelid. “I love you,” was all I could say before closing it again.

“Lift her for me,” said Faith. “I need to wrap the bandages.”

I groaned as Jamie raised me up. A pressure was building in my chest and abdomen, and it didn’t leave when Jamie laid me back down.

“Stay with her,” said Faith. “Keep talking to her while I heal her.”

“Open yer eyes for me, Sassenach. Let me see them...like whisky illuminated bright in the sun.”

I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t find the energy. Jamie’s voice was all that connected me to any sort of consciousness.

“I remember those eyes shining in the firelight at Leoch when I held ye weeping in my arms. D’ye mind, Claire? Do ye recall the moment I fell in love wi’ you?”

“Mmmm,” I moaned. How safe I felt in his arms.

“Aye, _mo nighean donn_. Ye were sae kind...sae bonny. Ye’re hands were gentle and strong on my skin. I was burning for ye, a blaze hotter than the hearth beside us.”

Jamie’s voice was soothing and poetic in it’s Scottish rhythm, and I was happy to drift away into paradise on that sound…

A blue light lit my eyelids like a blaze of neon from the 1960s. I remembered that light!

My eyes opened in shock as I heard Brianna and Roger suck in their breath.

“What’s happened?” asked Jamie, ignorant of the light.

“Keep talking to her,” said Faith as she pressed on my wounds. Blue light swirled out from her hands. “Maître Raymond told me he had her call to you when he healed her. He said you held her spirit in her earthly body. Keep holding her here now.”

Jamie looked down at me in fear and befuddlement as I felt something happening in my gut. A painful itching filled my stomach as I cried out to my husband. “Jamie!”

“Is this what Hector McEwan did to you?” Brianna asked Roger in awe.

“Aye,” he said, breathless. “Just so.”

“What’s happening?” Jamie demanded as he grabbed my arms to hold me still.

“She’s healing her. Can ye no' see the light?” said Roger.

Jamie shook his head and held me strong.

“Don’t worry,” said William to Jamie. “She did the same for me. I would’ve died if she didn’t.”

“Can ye see the light then?” Jamie asked.

“No. I don’t see anything. But I know what it feels like.” William looked at me sympathetically.

“Can ye see it, Sassenach?”

I was in too much pain to answer, but I could finally move my arms. I lifted a hand to Jamie, desperately seeking his comfort.

“Oh, Claire. Stay wi’ me, Sassenach. Ye canna leave me. Ye’re blood of my blood and bone of my bone, and wi’out my blood and bone, I’m no' half a man. Stay wi’ me, Claire.”

As Jamie spoke, Faith’s hands moved from one wound to another, bringing the painful healing with them. My body was growing warmer as blood seemed to be returning, but I was feeling more and more tired with exertion.

“Sassenach!” Jamie called. “Dinna leave me, Claire.”

“It’s alright,” I told him as I faded into sleep. “It’s alright.”

“Claire…” he pleaded.

My eyes were closed when Faith told him. “She’ll be alright, now. Hold her while she rests.”

Jamie’s mouth on my temple was the last thing I remembered...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In "The Space Between," Diana shares more about Master Raymond and "his" people with the blue healing magic and aura. Raymond did not kill the Comte, but gave him a poison that made him seem dead for a period of time. The Comte then traveled to the 1600's. Paul Rakoczy was his alias.
> 
> The real person "Le Comte St. Germain," was reputed to be a benevolent man who studied Alchemy. However, in Diana's story, he is not so benevolent. He is trying to achieve long life. He noticed Master Raymond looked younger than before, and concluded he had alchemical secrets. At the end of the story, Raymond and Le Comte disappeared together possibly traveling to the future.
> 
> In that same book, Marsali's younger sister, Joan, had a type of "sight" in which she could see impending death coming close. Everything in these chapters was compatible with canon.


	7. Eyes Like Whisky Lit by the Sun

Jamie…

“Jamie!” I tried to call, but no sound came. In my muddled state, I didn’t know why I needed him, but reaching for him was a reflex after all this time.

A stabbing pain pulsed deep in my gut...a knife twisting from side to side. My vision was hazy, but it didn’t matter...there was nothing to see. I was surrounded by nothingness.

I realized why I needed him...to fill the emptiness.

“Jamie!”

No answer.

Was I in purgatory, perhaps? I wasn’t one for cataloging my sins as my husband did. I didn’t keep a tally of wrongs to sort through and calculate their weight against my good deeds. My sins usually popped up in my mind at some inconvenient time when triggered by a seemingly random event.

The truth was, I often felt some sort of justification for committing a sin—like if I didn’t shoot that red coat, Jamie would be dead. Most of my sins anyway. I just hoped St. Peter would think my reasoning sufficient.

“Jamie!”

“...here, Sassenach. Open your eyes.”

Oh, thank goodness. It was a dream.

I forced my heavy lids apart and was assaulted by beams of painful light slipping through. Unfortunately, I needed that light to see Jamie’s face, so I mustered enough tolerance to cope with the overstimulation until my eyes desensitized to their surroundings.

As my vision came into focus, two glittering blue irises smiled above me. “Jamie.”

His hair was loose, and he wore nothing but his shirt. He stroked my face with his large, rough hands. His weight on the edge of the bed tipped the feathered mattress so my body sunk into him. He must have carried me up to our bed. A pallet of blankets lay on the floor next to me where he was sleeping.

“I’m here, _mo nighean donn._ Are ye alright?”

“I’m not sure. I think so.” The temperature of his hand was warmer than my skin, so I knew I was feverless. I lifted the blanket to inspect the damage to my otherwise naked body.

There was a bandage wrapped around my torso covering two wounds on my abdomen. One was over my liver and the other over my small intestines. “Those look remarkably well for being shot only a few hours ago!”

“A day ago, Sassenach. Faith has had ye on the laudanum. Knocked ye out cold for a good while.”

“Well, I’d say it’s wearing off.” I cringed at the discomfort of the healing holes in my body.

“Ye need more, medicine? I can run down to the surgery if ye like.”

“No. But you can help me relieve my other discomforts.”

“Ah, of course,” he said. He left my side briefly to bring me a chamber pot. It was a painful experience, so I just allowed Jamie to lift and maneuver me as needed.

When I was done, he gave me a glass of honey water—I wondered if this was at Faith’s instruction or if he’d been listening to me over the years about blood loss and electrolytes—and returned to his perch on the edge of our bed. He went back to stroking my face and watching me with a softness that certainly took some of the pain away.

My head began to clear and memories of my last conscious night filtered through my head.

“The Comte?” I asked.

His eyes darkened and he looked out the window in frustration, as though he might see the man wandering around out there. “Ian’s out looking for him. It seems he was hiding under my desk the first time we searched the house. Ian offers his apology for no being thorough enough wi’ the inspection.”

I waved off the apology. “Someone repaired our bed?”

“Aye. Jenny and Marsali.” He was still stroking my face and looking at me with the most genuine relief. “Ye had me worrit, Claire.”

“To tell you the truth, I was a little concerned myself. Especially when…” I stopped and remembered, “Jamie...Faith?”

He let out a burst of his rough, Scottish laugh, “Aye.” His voice was breathless. “Our daughter is alive.”

“You knew, didn’t you? You figured it out days ago.”

He had the decency to look a little ashamed for keeping it from me, “Aye. When I saw ye crying together that day in the surgery, for a moment I couldna decipher which of ye was which. I wasna certain who she was, but I knew she was yours, somehow.”

“And when you were hugging her out by the stables?”

“I’d taken her for a walk to see if she’d trust me wi’ the truth. The poor lass was sae nervous.” He laughed at the memory. “I told her I knew she must be yer kin, but by the shape of her eyes and the color of her hair, I thought, mebbe, I saw a wee bit of my Da in her, too.” The pride in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Then she told you?”

He shook his head, “No' just then. First, she asked me about the wean we lost. She said ye told her about our first daughter. I shared about what a joy it was to watch ye becoming a mother, carrying my child. I told her a wee bit of the duel wi’ Randall for attacking one of our servants, and…” his voice caught in his throat, and he took a moment to wipe his eyes before grunting to clear the obstruction, “And I spoke of seeing you bleeding on the ground...and about me being taken away to the Bastille...how we grieved her then...how we grieved her the rest of our lives.”

I wiped a tear filling the corner of his eye, and he grabbed my hand and held it to his cheek.

My mind replayed the painful memories of holding what I thought was my daughter in my arms. The overwhelming grief and despair that gripped my heart as the man I loved—and hated in that moment—more than any other was locked up far away, and the child I’d spent months falling in love with lay dead and cold in my arms…

“As I walked with her, I thought, mebbe...mebbe there was another bairn. Mebbe ye were carrying two and dinna ken. Ye’d said ye held a wean wi’ red hair, so it couldna have been the lass...”

Jamie wiped my eyes with the corner of the sheet before he continued on. “I told her the same thing I told ye when we wed, Sassenach. I told her I ken she had her secrets, and I’d no try to force them out of her before she was ready, so long as she gave me the truth.”

“What did she tell you?”

He smiled soft and sweet, “There by the stables she told me her name. She said Raymond saved her life and yours. What ye saw that day as I held the lass in my arms, Claire, was me embracing our daughter for the first time.”

“Oh, Jamie.” I pulled him as close as he would allow while being careful of my injuries. “How is this possible? How could it be...after all this time?”

He laughed. “I dinna ken. That sorcerer friend of yers must have worked some ungodly bit of magic, but I canna be more grateful to the wee froggy bastard.”

“And the blue light!” I remembered. “Jamie! How she healed me. It was just like what Master Raymond did to me in Paris. It was just like the light coming from my hands when Malva died…”

“Aye. I couldna see the blue lights myself, but Roger and Brianna could, clear as day. Our wee lassie, Mandy, I think she could, as well. Mind, she said the lass was blue like you.”

“Master Raymond must have taught Faith how to do it.”

Jamie held my face in his hands as he said, “I dinna think ye’d be alive if she didna heal ye, Claire...both wi’ stitching ye up and wi’ the faerie lights. Ye had me sae worrit lying there bleeding all over the surgery. I canna live without ye, my Sassenach.”

My dream of the nothingness purgatory was still too fresh for talk about losing each other. “Come here, Jamie. Lay with me.”

He kissed me deep and tender before crawling in next to me. He pulled me up to rest my head in the crook of his arm, and I found comfort in the melody of our beating hearts and rhythmic breath.

“I wish we could’ve raised her together, Jamie. How lucky she would’ve been to have such a father.”

He smiled. “Aye, Sassenach...and such a mother. But ye ken as well as I...ye wouldna have gone back through the stones if Faith was alive. And if ye didna go back, you and Brianna may no have survived childbirth. If ye didna go back, Roger Mac wouldna be here for Brianna...there’d be no Jemmy or Mandy. And from what I ken, if Raymond didna take the bairn...she would ha’ died before I made it out of the Bastille. All has happened as it should, Claire. All has happened the only way it could for our family to be together now.”

“Well, then. I guess I shouldn’t live with too much regret.”

“I canna tell ye the joy it brings my heart knowing that long after we’re gone, yer golden eyes will still grace this Earth on her face...that my mother’s hair will shine in the sun whenever Brianna and Jem step outside...and my father’s broad grin and his smiling blue eyes will live on with the wee bairns' laughter.”

“It’s quite a legacy, isn’t it?”

“Aye, ’tis.”

I found it much easier to relax while wrapped in Jamie’s arms. It also helped that we lay with thoughts of our robust family legacy fresh in our minds. Not even the pain of my injuries nor the possibility of reentering that dreamstate of purgatory could dampen my spirits.

I didn’t sleep again the rest of the night; if I did, it was in those hazy early stages of sleep that blended with wakefulness in a way that the sleeper was completely unaware of their own unconsciousness. I wasn’t frustrated with lack of rest by any means. I attributed my wakefulness to already sleeping nearly twenty-four hours straight and to my quite serious pain...not to mention my eagerness to talk to my eldest daughter.

Jamie, however, was sleeping soundly. His heavy body was relaxed around mine. I wondered if he’d slept, at all, while I was unconscious. Watching him in these vulnerable, unguarded moments was such a gift. His near naked body was completely at my mercy—even if I could hardly be considered a threat in my current condition. Moments like this made so clear the depth my possession of this man. He was mine just as much as I was his.

As the sun rose, it shined through the leaves of the trees outside, speckling Jamie’s face with patches of light. His brow narrowed against the intrusion, and his breath shifted, alerting me to his awakening.

“Good morning,” I said, more than ready for conscious company.

One eye peeked through a set of auburn lashes, a glittering shock of blue against red. “ _Mmphm_.”

He sighed deep and stretched his body from one end of our sizable bed to the other. On his exhale, his chest let off a delicious masculine rumble. If I didn’t have two holes in my stomach, the morning would’ve played out very differently. I must’ve been feeling well if that thought was a remote possibility.

“How is it this morning, Sassenach?” His unused morning voice sounded as though it was being pulled through a pile of gravel.

I ran my hands over my wounds and said, “Tender.”

I had him place a few pillows behind my head so I wouldn’t have to strain my abdomen to sit up. I looked under the bandages to glimpse how the healing was coming along.

“Oh,” I said in surprise. “They look surprisingly well. Even better than last night!”

“Our wee faerie lass is likely to blame for that.” He kissed me gently on my crown before getting up and relieving himself. “Ye saw how she healed Willie.”

“Did the children tell you why the Comte attacked Willie?”

“Aye,” he grumbled. “He thought ye were bathing me in yer fountain of youth?”

“I’d think he was crazy if the man didn’t look younger than when we met him in Paris.”

“Can ye be sure it was him? We always saw him in his wig and powder. Perhaps it was an impostor?”

“It was him. He spoke to me just the same as he did in Paris. His anger with me was still so visceral.”

Jamie clenched his jaw in frustration. “What was Raymond thinking keeping that man alive?”

“Maître Raymond was a lot of things, but apparently not a killer.”

“ _Mmphm_.” The sound told me exactly what Jamie thought of Maître Raymond’s non-murderous nature. He stood up and went to my vanity to club his hair back and get dressed.

“You going down for breakfast?” I asked hopefully after he finished his morning ablutions and helped me with mine. I wondered how it was possible I was feeling hungry not two days after being shot.

He smiled as he picked up the blankets he left on the floor last night and tossed them into a corner. “I was prohibited by yer doctor from bringing ye anything save honey water until she saw fit to allow ye nourishment.”

Irritation flared in me, “ _I’m_ a doctor.”

He laughed, no doubt thinking of all the times I deprived him of food when he was ill. “Ye're the patient, now, Sassenach. Let me bring our daughter to examine ye.”

“ _Mmphm_.” I put enough agitation into that grunt to let him know exactly what this Sassenach thought of his plan. He was nothing but amused as he left the room. I concluded it had been far too long since I threw anything at him or held a dirk to his throat if he was laughing at my irritability. Marital bliss had its drawbacks.

“Quiet, you,” I told my growling stomach as I waited.

I was ready to protest my imposed fasting with the utmost vehemence as footsteps made their way toward my room. However, I was hit with the shock of seeing eyes like whisky lit by the sun, and all my agitation melted away.

“ _Faith_ ,” I said, breathless.

The early morning light was shining off her smiling eyes. Her hair was a gorgeous dark brown illuminated by the day. She sat on the edge of my bed, and I couldn’t help but reach up and cup her cheek in my hand.

“Hello,” she said, placing her hand over mine. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Surprising well. A bit tender.”

“Pain out of ten?” She pulled the sheet sideways to reveal my belly, but left the rest of me covered, allowing her mother some modicum of modesty. She unwrapped the bandages to look at the progress of her work.

“Not quite a seven,” I said, “and that’s down from last night. It was nearly a nine when I woke up.”

She pressed on my surrounding organs, inspected her stitching for signs of infection, and took my vitals. “It should continue to drop significantly over the next few days. We can do the treatment again when your healing plateaus. The treatments don’t seem to work as effectively if done too close together.”

“The blue light treatment?”

She nodded sheepishly.

“How does it work?”

She bandaged me up again. “I’ll show you in a few days. William will need another treatment soon. His stab wounds may not have looked like it when I brought him to the Ridge, but they nearly killed him long before the infection took hold. I’m sure he’ll let you practice on him.”

“Practice? I can’t…”

She laughed. “Of course, you can. The light radiates off you.” She covered me up and handed me the glass of honey water from the night stand. “I bet you’ve done it a few times without even knowing what you were doing.”

I didn’t say anything about Malva.

My stomach, annoyed at its lack of sustenance, announced it was in need of a different form of attention than poking and prodding. “Could you please advise your father I’m well enough to have something to eat?”

Faith turned to Jamie who was smiling down at us with moisture in his eyes. “Broth,” she instructed. She looked back to me and said, “You’re recovering from two bullet wounds to your GI tract. Let’s make sure you can take fluids before we add solids.”

Jamie nodded in acquiescence at the doctor’s orders and turned on his heel like a good soldier.

“It doesn’t _feel_ like I’m recovering from gunshot wounds,” I tried justifying. Faith smiled and nodded knowingly. I wondered if Raymond ever used the blue light on her.

Our initial excitement at seeing each other had settled, and I was starting to notice dark circles around her eyes and the weary set of her brow. “How are you doing, darling?”

She shrugged. “I’m just grateful you’re well.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She shook her head in a mindless sort of way, “My child’s father intentionally shot my mother. I’m managing.”

I grabbed her hand, “He knows about the baby now. You have to be careful.”

“It was stupid to tell him, I know. I just thought it might stop him from hurting you...that it might have some influence on him.”

I sighed, wishing I could impart a few decades of my experience with sociopathic men, as if anything but living her own personal experiences would make her listen.

We waited for Jamie to return for discussion about anything else of significance.

Jamie brought a freshly made broth that tasted as though it was made by Jenny’s hand. Jamie and Faith had more patience than my stomach, so I tended to my hunger first. I could only handle a few spoonfuls at a time, so my wait for answers wasn’t long.

“What happened after yer mother gave birth, lass?” Jamie asked, sitting in the chair at my vanity.

Faith sighed deeply and prepared to tell her story. “Maître Raymond knew a woman in Paris...he said she was a seer.”

“She could tell the future?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not exactly. She could see when death was near...a gray blanket of dimming life would lie over a person close to their end. This seer was a midwife at the hospital you volunteered at when residing in Paris. Her name was Madame Bonheur.”

I sucked in a breath at the recollection of the woman who forced me to hold my dead child so I wouldn’t “imagine things” and would accept Faith’s death.

“Having such a gift of sight was invaluable both to the hospital and to those in Maître Raymond’s circle. She was not the only person with such a gift, but her experience and talent helped her see with plenty of time in advance who was likely to die if some grand intervention was not implemented.”

“So, she saw this dimming of life in me while I was working at the hospital?”

“Yes...and in me...a darkness over your pregnant belly. She told Maître Raymond whom she knew had a fondness for you. He shared with me that you once risked yourself to warn him to leave town. He had every intention of leaving at your recommendation, except for fear of what would happen to you and your baby if he did. So, he waited in secret and prepared to intervene when the time came.”

“Prepared?” asked Jamie.

“Madame Bonheur was a midwife, so she oversaw most of the fetal demise at the hospital. Days before I was born, a young woman gave birth to a stillborn child with red hair...one that could pass for your baby. Maître Raymond exhumed the child’s body from her fresh grave with the help of Madame Bonheur. He had means of preserving the body for a time. When you were brought in hemorrhaging, the midwife easily switched me for the other baby and gave me to Maître Raymond. Born so premature, I required many treatments, particularly on my underdeveloped lungs and immune system, so he kept me hidden away for months in Paris before he was found by the king and taken to trial. Madame Bonheur tended to me in his absence. He came back once you saved him again, but we could not remain in Paris. Everyone knew I was ‘dead,’ and he was a pariah, so he decided to take me with him to another time. He had to take me to the 1980’s because he’d already lived part of his life in various periods between the 1700’s and the 1970’s. A traveler cannot be in a Time they’ve already lived, or they will die.”

“So he raised you in Paris in the 1980’s?”

“Yes. He taught me what he could about healing and traveling, but he wasn’t much of a guardian. He arranged for me to be in boarding school most of the year while he was off doing Lord knows what. He was a good, caring man…” she looked to Jamie, “but he wasn’t a father.”

“How did he die?” I asked.

“I’m not certain. I was informed by authorities that there was no foul play. They said it was likely some medical problem...common for a man his age, however…”

“However, the man could heal nearly any ailment imaginable,” I finished for her.

“ _Exactement_. I contacted friends of his, and they told me a seer informed him of the imminent likelihood of his death, but a seer could not predict how a man will die. I didn’t realize it at the time, but only weeks before, he told me where to find you if anything should ever happen to him. He wanted me to know you...to meet you. Unfortunately...I shared that conversation with Paul.”

“You think, mebbe…” said Jamie. His voice was careful for Faith’s sake, “...there was foul play?”

“After the last few days, I’ve seen how far Paul will go to get what he wants. I think, perhaps…” She took a shuddering breath to steady herself. “Maybe he lashed out when Maître Raymond wouldn’t share his secrets.”

Faith looked ill at the thought.

“Darling…” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight.

“ _J'étais bête, Maman_.”

“Oh no. No, darling! Of course, you weren’t.”

“Ye couldna have known, lass. I’m sure Raymond wouldna blame ye either, seeing as how _he_ was the one who brought the man in yer life.”

The tight-lipped, quivering smile that didn’t reach her tearful eyes showed gratitude for her newfound parents' reassurance, but not belief in the words. Guilt and shame were obnoxious that way.

Well, illogical emotions be damned! I pulled her arm so she’d come close and allow me to hug her. I wrapped my arms around her and cradled her head as she wept in my neck. Jamie watched us with no little sympathy. His fingers twitched at his side, and I knew he was feeling frustratingly helpless.

I called him over with my eyes. He came and knelt at my bedside and put his comforting arms around us both. He began his soothing Gaelic muttering, the words lost somewhere in the mess of two heads of wild, curly hair, their meaning hitting home even in absence of verbal understanding.

When Faith’s weeping subsided, she pulled back, looking slightly abashed at going to pieces in front of us. Jamie wiped her tears with the back of his finger and said in his gentlest tone, “’Tis alright, lass. Ye and the bairn are healthy and well. ’Tis all that matters.”

A knock at the door interrupted our first parent-child moment, and I audibly grumbled at the intrusion. Faith did her best to pull herself together while Jamie went to open the door.

Only one face could stop my irritation in its tracks at that moment.

“Bree,” I said, feeling quite overcome with my two girls in the room together. My eyes flashed to Jamie, and he read my wordless question. He shook his head to let me know he hadn’t told Brianna about Faith.

Brianna witnessed the nonverbal conversation between her parents, but our thoughtful daughter had a more urgent question as she took Faith’s place at my bedside. “How are you, Mama?”

“Very well, darling. I’m sure I’ll be up and about in no time.” I grabbed her hand in mine and couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face as I said, “Your father and I have something important to tell you.”

I looked to Jamie who was standing with Faith, an arm around her shoulder. He nodded for me to go on.

“Well…” My voice caught in my throat as I tried to figure out a way to tell her this monumental news. I hoped this revelation would go better than the last one I shared with her about Frank not being her father.

Brianna smiled and said, “If you’re going to tell me that Sophia is really my presumed dead sister, Faith...I already know.”

“What? How?”

“William told us about your conversation with the Comte before he shot you. Then Mandy overheard Da talking to Faith in your surgery.” Brianna looked to her sister then back to me. “But it was the color of her eyes and the way she wielded a scalpel that sealed the deal. She couldn’t be anyone else’s but yours.”

I touched her cheek and looked between my daughters, “My girls.”

“You look happy, Mama.”

“What did you expect from a woman who was just nearly assassinated?”

Bree leaned forward and kissed my cheek before standing to face her sister. The two girls looked each other over. For siblings, they could hardly look more different. There was some similarity in the shape of their eyes, but that was it. One was a carbon copy of their Viking/Highlander father and the other of their French/English mother.

My nerves were on edge as I watched the sisters familiarize themselves with each other. Jamie stepped stealthily around and came to sit on the bed beside me. His hand took up mine in both of his, caressing it as we watched our girls.

“Faith?” asked Brianna.

Faith bit her lip as she nodded, the obviously more nervous of the two girls in this exchange. Brianna’s analytical mind covered whatever emotion she was having in the mask of stoicism she inherited from Jamie.

A grunt from Jamie told me I was digging my nails into his palm. I kissed his hand in apology.

Brianna gave a spontaneous chuckle and held out her hand to Faith. “I always wanted a sister. I guess we have a few decades to catch up on. We’ll have to braid each other’s hair, have mud fights, and talk about boys.”

Jamie gave a surprised and authoritarian “ _Hmphm_ ” at the mention of the word “boys.”

Faith grinned brightly, ignoring her father’s disapproval as well as any American teenager I’d ever seen, and took Brianna’s offered hand, “We can play dress-up and sing Madonna while eating junk food and jumping on our beds.”

As the girls laughed, Jamie asked me, “What madness are they talking?”

“Sister things, mostly. Who is Madonna?”

Brianna shrugged, and Faith asked, “None of you spent time in the 80s?”

“Roger and I must’ve come back a little too soon. Maybe we can take a quick trip back for a concert.”

Jamie nearly crushed my hand.

“Oh, dear God. Can you lock them in their rooms?” I said.

“Aye. I’ll put some bolts outside their doors before supper.”

“Go easy on your father, girls.” I rubbed at the tension in Jamie’s arm. “He’s had a lot to deal with the last few days, don’t do anything to give him a heart attack just yet.”

The girls responded simultaneously with shockingly similar smiling eyes in the shape of triangles.

“Sorry, Da.”

“ _Je suis désolé, Papa._ ”

“ _Hmphm_ ,” he grunted, though I could feel how moved he was by the sight in front of him. He turned to me and rumbled quietly. “D’ye think the bolts should be the size of the one on Gideon’s paddock? Or larger?”

I looked at the tall red-head and smaller whisky-eyed girl in front of us...they looked so like their parents. If they got into trouble together half as easily and their mother and father…

“Larger” I said, wrapping my arms around my husband’s bicep. “Much, much larger.”


End file.
